


SuperPotterLock- The Order of the Phoenix

by Nurmengardx



Series: SuperPotterLock [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Injury, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Child Abuse, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, Survivor Guilt, seer john watson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 76,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23198305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nurmengardx/pseuds/Nurmengardx
Summary: ‘In here,’ one of them muttered, as he tried the handle to the kitchen door. ‘Alohomora.’The door clicked open, and the Death Eater crept slowly inside.John's heart raced, and he pushed his mother even further into the shadows. He crawled closer to the one that had come into the kitchen, as quietly as possible in an attempt to catch them by surprise.He held his wand in his trembling hand and rounded the kitchen counter. 'Silencio,' he whispered,
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: SuperPotterLock [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/37078
Comments: 88
Kudos: 108





	1. A Peck of Owls

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! If you're new, I do recommend that you check out the previous four stories, hope you enjoy it!

A Peck of Owls

  
  


John spent much of his first few days in bed. His connection to Sherlock was tenuous at best, but with his senses dulled, his visions became muffled. The nightmares didn’t stop, but that’s all they were, and eventually, he sat his mother down at the kitchen table and explained everything that had happened the previous year.

She sat quietly, listening through every halting word, only asking the occasional question, and passing him tissues.

When he was done, he felt empty and raw, and gulped down a glass of water while he waited for his mother to say something. It wasn’t until his mother came around the table and wrapped him in her arms, that he realised he was shaking, and cried into her shoulder.

‘I’m really tired, Mum,’ he choked.

‘I can tell,’ she said, stroking his head. ‘Sounds like you had a year of it.’

‘I wasn’t the only one,’ John sniffed. ‘I couldn’t save Cedric.’

‘It wasn’t your job to save him,’ she said quietly, pulling away and looking him in the face. ‘It was everyone who was in charge of that stupid tournament’s job to protect him. Dumbledore’s for hiring that nutcase in the first place.’

‘But what is it all for, if I can’t use it to help anyone?’

‘Does it have to be all that important? You helped that Neville boy find his toad, didn’t you? And your friend’s brother had fun doing his project on you, didn’t he?’

‘I suppose…’ John slumped in his chair.

His mother suddenly smiled. ‘I think I know something that will help.’

John looked up curiously.

‘Why don’t you invite Sherlock over?

John felt his cheeks warm.

‘I can tell that you miss him.’

‘It’s only been a few days since I saw him,’ John said, rolling his eyes.

‘As if that would stop you. Does he have a telephone, or should we send a letter?’

‘No need, hang on.’

John closed his eyes and reached out for Sherlock. It was faint, but he got the impression across. ‘He’s busy…’ John mumbled. ‘Somewhere cold… Sweden? No, Norway… He’ll be back in a couple of weeks…’

‘Okay, so he’ll come here, then. Until then, I want you to stop blaming yourself. There was only so much you can do, and by the sounds of it, you did that.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘And stop spending so much time in bed. I’ll make you some tea, but then you should go for a walk and get some fresh air.’

‘If you insist.’

She smiled again, but John saw her glance at the picture of his father on the wall.

‘It’s not the same,’ he mumbled.

‘I didn’t say it was.’

‘I’m not like him.’ He stood, ignoring the cup of tea she made for him. Anger bubbled up inside him before he could stop it, and though he knew he was being irrational, her sympathetic expression only made him angrier. He brushed off the alarm coming from Sherlock and stormed from the house.

It was horribly warm outside, with only a slight breeze to alleviate it. The leaves on the hedges outside their house had begun to curl and turn brown. John walked down the street, ignoring all the children running around, and giving the ones playing with a hose a wide berth.

Not for the first time since he’d been home, his thoughts turned to Harry, and then to Voldemort. His head spun as all his visions came back to him, and he stopped walking so he wouldn’t vomit into his neighbour’s hydrangeas. They had an idea of some of his plans, but what was he doing now, at that very moment, John didn’t know. He tried to look, but only got as far as Wormtail, before he was forced to abandon it and sink to the floor. He got the impression that Sherlock wanted him to rest, but instead he turned to check on the others.

Harry was the easiest to find, and John saw him lying under the windowsill outside his house, listening to the news coming from the television inside. He looked hot and frustrated, but otherwise, he seemed all right.

Then he moved on to Hermione, the closest to him. She was sitting in her bedroom, surrounded by books, with _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ in her hand. Her hair was tied up, she had a pencil behind her ear, and several glasses of water dotted around the room. There were pieces of parchment littering her bed and lap, and she was twirling her wand in her other hand, mouthing the words she was reading. John smiled and moved away.

Firstly, he passed by Sam and Dean. Sam was pacing around Dean, reading out the notes he’d made about John, and Dean was throwing a misshapen Quaffle up and down, looking thoroughly bored. Then he moved over to the Weasleys. Most of them were outside, playing Quidditch, and he saw Mr and Mrs Weasley in their kitchen, talking and looking worried.

Lastly, he tried to pinpoint Castiel. He was the furthest away, and John couldn’t make out more than his blurred outline, before everything turned white and he heard a high-pitched whining in his ears. He eased out of it, disappointed, then reached for Sherlock again. All he got was a vague sense that Sherlock was rolling his eyes.

‘Fine, maybe I do miss you,’ he muttered, to the sound of laughter in his head. ‘Shut up, you’re making me look mental. Yes, ha ha, I look mental already, you’re hilarious.’ He leaned back against the brick wall he had sat in front of, and watched the clouds until they started to form shapes. He didn’t know what they meant, and he didn’t bother trying to interpret them. Instead, he just watched until the sun touched the horizon and he finally decided to go home.

The kettle had already been switched back on when he went back into the kitchen.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, without meeting his mother’s eyes.

She squeezed his shoulder as she placed a fresh mug of tea in front of him. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m not angry with you, I just want you to feel better.’

‘I know.’

She sat back down and again looked up at the picture. ‘Things were difficult with your father,’ she said.

‘Mum-’

‘And I miss him all the time. I hated watching him go the way he did.’

‘Yeah, I was also there.’

‘John, please,’ she said. ‘I love you and your sister so much. I don’t want you to go through the same thing he did.’

John groaned. ‘I won’t.’

His mother grimaced. ‘You already are. Keep talking to people, okay? Me, Sherlock, your friends. Anyone.’

John took a sip of his tea. ‘Not Harriet.’

‘Not Harriet, if you don’t want to,’ she snorted.

John smiled at her. ‘I love you too, Mum. And I’m sorry for my mood swings. I’ll try not to take it out on you so much.’

‘I’m sure I can take it.’ She swallowed some of her own tea. ‘So… Sherlock?’

‘Mum!’

‘What, I can’t ask? With your sister, I knew since she started school, but you, I had no idea.’

John groaned dramatically, leaning back against the chair. ‘I didn’t know either, it just sort of happened.’

‘He seems a little…’

‘His mind works differently to everyone else’s.’

‘I’m not sure about him.’

‘Neither am I.’ John laughed at Sherlock’s indignation in the back of his head. ‘He helps me,’ he added at her frown. ‘I like him. He’ll do.’

‘He’ll do?’

John waved a hand. ‘I really like him. I also like teasing him, because he can hear me, and it’s funny.’

‘I still don’t quite understand that part.’

‘Neither do we, but it’s still funny. Don’t worry, he does it to me too.’

‘As long as he makes you happy.’

‘He does.’ He blushed at both the smile on his mother’s face, and the fondness coming from Sherlock.

Just then, the front door opened, footsteps came down the hall, and John suddenly found himself in a headlock.

‘Ah, Harriet, get off,’ John complained, struggling against her arm.

She laughed and let go, and moved around to give their mother a kiss on the cheek. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said brightly.

‘Hello, dear. Lovely to see you, Clara,’ she added, as Harriet’s girlfriend also came into the room.

‘You too,’ she smiled.

Harriet made them both tea, then threw herself down in the chair next to John. She had cut her hair short, and was wearing one of their father’s army jackets. ‘So, it’s true what they say about boarding school boys,’ she grinned, knuckling John’s head.

Clara giggled, leaning against the kitchen counter with her cup of tea.

‘Seriously, what do you see in her?’ John asked Clara. ‘You’re way too pretty for her.’

‘She has a certain charm,’ Clara replied.

‘Oh yeah, she’s charming all right,’ John grumbled, as Harriet put her heavily booted feet up on the table.

All the people in the room started to hurt John’s head, so he finished his tea and left for the peace of his bedroom.

‘Is he going to be okay?’ he heard Harriet whisper.

‘I hope so,’ their mother whispered back. ‘He’s having a rough go of it.’

John sighed, and carried on back up to his room.

Dolly was sitting in her tank. She had been quiet since they had returned home, croaking mournfully.

‘I bet you miss Trevor,’ he said to her. ‘You’ll see him again after the summer.’

She just crawled into the cave in her tank to hide, but croaked sadly again.

John lay down on his bed, trying not to think too much.

His trunk lay empty in one corner, his robes hanging up in his wardrobe until it was time to pack them. He had both the Slytherin tie that Sherlock got him, and the tie with the rose in the corner framed, sitting on his bedside table. His books were all stacked on his desk, since they hadn’t received their book lists yet, and he didn’t know which they would need. The crystal ball that Professor Trelawney had given him was under his bed. It still had the black bag around it, where John had at first shoved it to the bottom of his trunk, then rolled it under his bed without looking into its misty depths.

The sun dimmed and John crawled under the covers. His mother came in and put a plate of sandwiches on his bedside table, but he didn’t have much of an appetite.

Sleep was both the part of the day he most looked forward to, and the part that he most dreaded. It was no different that night. His dreams swirled, and he woke himself up with his own screaming, breathing heavily and shaking. He scrubbed the tears from his face and held his head in his hands. ‘Why won’t it stop?’ he stammered.

Sherlock couldn’t answer from so far away, only send faint sympathy.

‘Why did you have to go to Norway, anyway?’ John sniffed and wiped his face again, but slipped out of bed.

He walked out into the hallway, and saw that a lamp was still on in his mother’s room, and felt guilty for keeping her awake again. ‘Mum?’ he mumbled, pushing open her door.

She looked up from the book she was reading.

John’s chin wobbled and he was still shaking. ‘Can - can I-?’

‘Come here,’ she said softly, pulling back the blankets on her bed for him.

He climbed in beside her, and she pulled him in for a tight cuddle. ‘You won’t tell Harriet?’

‘’Course not.’

John went back to sleep in her arms, and the dreams bothered him less that night.

They both pretended that it hadn’t happened the next morning, but it became John’s best coping method when the dreams were too much. Most nights, when he’d chased Harriet off to Clara’s with his screams, he’d creep into his mother’s room, and curl up beside her while she hummed him to sleep.

He tried not to be too embarrassed by it, especially since it was working. The nightmares faded, and after two weeks, he was spending more time in his own bed.

The night before Sherlock was due to return from Norway, John woke suddenly, bolting upright in bed. He had not been dreaming, nor was he shivering or sweating. He felt almost normal, but something was off.

It was late, pitch black outside but for the street lights, and John stared out of his window into the darkness. There was magic nearby. He slowly stood up, his bare feet touching the floor without a sound. He focused in on the magic, and gasped as he saw the white masks of three Death Eaters. They drew out a map, and one of them pointed at his house on it.

He grabbed his wand dashed from his room, and shook his mother awake.

‘John-?’

‘Shh.’ John yanked her from her bed. ‘They’re coming.’ He desperately tried to wake Sherlock, pushing through the pain it caused him as he pulled his mother down the stairs. _Sherlock!_ He thought so loudly it reverberated across their link, and Sherlock finally woke up. _Death Eaters!_

John hurried into the kitchen, closing the door behind him, and hiding them both behind the kitchen counter. He pointed his wand at the door, intending to lock it, but he couldn’t remember the spell.

 _Colloportus,_ Sherlock’s voice whispered.

John repeated him as quietly as he could, and ducked behind the counter again. _Hurry up,_ John called.

All he could hear was his and his mother’s breathing, then both of them froze as they heard the front door open. One of them went upstairs, and the other two walked slowly along the hallway.

‘In here,’ one of them muttered, as he tried the handle to the kitchen door. ‘ _Alohomora.’_

The door clicked open, and the Death Eater crept slowly inside.

John's heart raced, and he pushed his mother even further into the shadows. He crawled closer to the one that had come into the kitchen, as quietly as possible in an attempt to catch them by surprise.

He held his wand in his trembling hand and rounded the kitchen counter. ' _Silencio,'_ he whispered, then, ' _Impedimenta,'_ to immobilise him, without alerting the others.

 _Where are you?_ he called to Sherlock, to no response.

Then, John's time ran out. He'd kept the Death Eater in the kitchen silent momentarily, but the one that had gone to check the living room, came out and saw them.

They stared at each other for a moment, until John rolled across the floor, under the kitchen table, putting the Full Body-Bind in the Death Eater he'd already jinxed as he went.

‘ _Stupefy!’_ the other Death Eater cried, his spell just missing John under the table.

His mother then jumped out from behind the counter and slammed a heavy saucepan on the Death Eater’s head, knocking him to the floor.

‘Mum!’ John shouted, as the last of the three barrelled down the stairs and aimed his wand. ‘ _Protego!’_ He threw himself out from under the table, deflecting the curse coming at him without even hearing what it was. He pushed his mother back down, tripping over the Death Eaters on the ground. ‘Mum, get-’

‘ _Imperio!’_

Before he could react, John’s mind went blank, and he dropped his wand.

‘ _Come with me,’_ the Death Eater’s voice said, and John obeyed.

He could hear his mother shouting, but he cared very little for it, he just walked towards the front door. The front door slammed open before he could reach it, and the curse suddenly lifted.

The Death Eater controlling him swore loudly and Disapparated, followed by the two in the kitchen.

John blinked, struggling to pull himself together.

‘John!’ someone called, and cool fingers cupped his face.

‘Sherlock?’ John mumbled, squinting.

‘Yes, it’s me. I’m here.’

John took a deep breath to steady himself, Sherlock before him, and Mycroft standing in the doorway. He looked around and gasped. ‘Mum!’ he shouted, scrambling back into the kitchen. ‘Mum!’

‘I’m all right!’ she said, coming out from behind the kitchen counter. ‘I’m not hurt.’

John hugged her tightly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Sorry to barge in, Mrs Watson,’ Sherlock said, stepping over to them. He was still in his pajamas.

‘Nice to see you again. Who’s this?’ she asked, nodding at Mycroft.

‘My brother,’ Sherlock told her. ‘He works at the Ministry.’

‘How did they know where I live?’ John asked, pain building in the back of his head.

‘It appears they have already infiltrated the Ministry,’ Mycroft said. ‘A lot quicker than I was expecting.’

‘If you thought they were going to get in, why did you make us go to Norway?’ Sherlock demanded.

‘Not your concern,’ Mycroft said shortly.

John sank to the floor, holding his head.

Sherlock knelt next to him and waited.

‘What-?’

Sherlock shushed Mycroft irritably.

John fought it momentarily, then gave up, allowing the vision to take him.

It was just flashing images, mostly of rows upon rows of swirling orbs. He saw Nagini briefly, then everything turned pink. He tried to force it into a more linear progression, and so it would make sense, but it refused to be anything more than lights and images. It eventually ended with a last, lingering look at Nagini, and he snapped back into the hallway, breathing heavily.

‘Relax,’ Sherlock murmured.

‘I’m okay.’

‘What was it?’

‘I couldn’t get a good hold of it,’ John said, massaging his temples. ‘Nagini was there though.’

‘I think we should get the crystal ball.’

John grimaced. Sherlock knew full well that John was reluctant to use it, and set off stronger visions. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ John sighed.

‘I wish I weren’t.’

John snorted. ‘Don’t lie, you love being right.’

Sherlock opened his mouth, but clamped it shut again.

John’s cheeks burned, knowing exactly what Sherlock had been about to say, and briefly returned the sentiment.

Sherlock cleared his throat. ‘It’s in your room, isn’t it? I’ll get it.’ He kissed John’s forehead, then raced up the stairs.

‘How does he know where your room is?’ Mrs Watson asked.

John shrugged. ‘He once worked out how to find someone’s bed based on the architecture and the amount of litter on the floor, without even speaking to the person. I’m sure he’d have no problem finding mine.’

Sherlock came down with the ball in his hands, still wrapped in the bag.

John stared at it apprehensively. ‘Mum, why don’t you and Mycroft have a nice cup of tea in the kitchen?’

‘Are you sure? I can stay.’

‘I’d rather you weren’t looking at me while I do this. It looks ridiculous.’

‘Come, Mrs Watson,’ Mycroft said, taking her arm and walking her into the kitchen.

John smirked at him as they walked. ‘Does he sleep in his robes, or something?’

‘He doesn’t sleep, he hangs from the ceiling like a bat,’ Sherlock said, making John laugh. ‘Are you ready?’

‘I suppose.’ John took the ball from Sherlock’s hands and reluctantly unwrapped it.

The ball was warm in his hands, full of energy. It felt almost eager to be used. John stared at it, watching the mist form shapes. It showed him the orbs again, the same ones from his vision, then it showed him Mycroft.

‘Weird,’ he muttered. ‘Why Mycroft?’

The mist reshaped itself into a long corridor, then showed him the Ministry of Magic crest.

‘Something at the Ministry?’

It showed the orbs again, then he nearly dropped it when the Dark Mark suddenly appeared. He shoved it back into the bag.

‘Anything?’ Sherlock asked.

‘I’m not sure. Something about the Ministry and Mycroft?’

‘He’s the Head of the Department of Mysteries. Something in there, perhaps?’

‘Then the Dark Mark…’ It rattled around in his head for a moment, and he again saw flashes of Harry and Cedric in the graveyard before gaining control again.

‘You-Know-Who wants something in the Department of Mysteries,’ Sherlock said, nodding mostly to himself.

‘What could he want in there?’

‘The question is, what _wouldn’t_ he want? They have all sorts of artefacts and experiments in there. Mycroft won’t even let me in.’

‘What are these orb things, then? You think that’s what he wants?’

‘Mycroft?’ Sherlock called, and John winced.

‘Yes?’ Mycroft said, coming back out of the kitchen.

‘Do you have any white orbs on shelves in your department?’

Mycroft didn’t answer.

‘If you do, You-Know-Who wants them.’

Mycroft turned slightly pale, but still didn’t say anything.

A screech owl then swooped in through the open kitchen window, and dropped a letter with John’s name on in his lap.

‘I’m not touching that,’ he said, sensitive from holding the crystal ball.

Sherlock picked it up and opened it, then rolled his eyes and tossed it at Mycroft. ‘Friends of yours,’ he said.

Mycroft looked over it and tutted. ‘I will deal with it.’

‘What is it?’ John asked.

‘You’re expelled for doing magic in front of a Muggle,’ Sherlock said in a bored voice.

‘I’m _expelled?’_ John said, aghast.

‘You’re not expelled. Mycroft will take care of it.’

Mycroft crumpled up the letter and made for the front door. ‘I need to speak with Dumbledore. You’d better pack your things,’ he said.

‘What? Why?’

‘We need to get you to a safe house. I’ll send someone to collect you. You need to be ready.’

‘But-’

‘You can’t stay here.’ With that, Mycroft swept from the house, leaving Sherlock behind with John.

John pushed himself to his feet and went to his mother. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asked her.

She smiled at him. ‘I’m sure,’ she said. ‘I just didn’t know that magic could be… like that.’

‘Yeah, it can be a bit scary.’

‘You held your own though.’ She looked up at Sherlock. ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘It’s all right,’ he said awkwardly. ‘John, we should get packed.’

This time, John accompanied Sherlock upstairs, to his room.

It was odd to see him there, a little too tall and lightly touching the framed ties, with a small smile.

John closed the door and went to stand next to him.

‘Did you miss me?’ Sherlock said, still looking down at the ties.

‘What kind of question is that?’ John chuckled. ‘I thought you were supposed to be clever.’ John glanced back at the closed door. _When am I getting a real kiss?_

It was Sherlock’s turn to blush, but he obliged, tickling John’s head with his curls.

‘You should get dressed,’ Sherlock murmured, pulling away. ‘I’ll pack your trunk.’

John threw on some clothes, only pausing for a moment when the Dark Mark spiked through his head again.

‘It’ll be all right,’ Sherlock said. ‘Mycroft won’t let him get whatever it is that he wants.’

‘Really?’

‘He’s smarter than he looks.’

John laughed again, and started pulling clothes out of his wardrobe and stuffing them into his trunk.

He packed some things into his rucksack as well, including his crystal ball, so that he could get to is easily. He tried not to be too embarrassed when Sherlock found small things he’d kept that reminded him of Sherlock, but it was difficult when Sherlock smirked every time.

‘Don’t make me regret missing you,’ he muttered.

‘You would never.’ Sherlock packed in the last of John’s books. ‘You can leave the ones you don’t need in wherever Mycroft is taking us.’

‘Us?’

‘Do you think I’m going to let him hide you away somewhere, without me?’

‘Are you worried about me?’

‘I thought that one was fairly obvious, you did just have three Death Eaters attempt to kidnap you.’

‘Well, I was never that smart.’

Sherlock kissed him again.

Even after months together, Sherlock was still hesitant with John, as though worried that even the gentlest touch would push him away.

‘Nice of you to worry,’ John said warmly, holding Sherlock’s hands.

The door opened, and Sherlock pulled away slightly, but John didn’t let go of his hands.

‘John, there are some - er - _people,_ waiting for you downstairs,’ his mother said, trying very hard to keep a straight face.

‘Be right down,’ John said, softly running his thumbs over the backs of Sherlock’s hands, and Mrs Watson backed out of the room.

‘We’d better go,’ Sherlock said, after a few minutes of silence. ‘Have you packed everything?’

‘I think so, yeah.’ John took one last look around his room, now stripped bare. He took a deep breath, and started down the stairs to see who had come for him.

  
  
  



	2. The Advance Guard

The Advance Guard

  
  


John found his mother in the kitchen, looking slightly unnerved, surrounded by people she didn’t know, but making them all a cup of tea anyway.

‘Ah, there you are,’ said a familiar, friendly voice.

‘Professor Lupin,’ John smiled. 

Lupin looked more worn out and tired than he had ever done while still teaching at Hogwarts, but he smiled warmly at John and Sherlock.

‘All right there, Watson?’ another voice growled.

‘I’ve been worse, thanks, Professor.’

‘Dunno much about “Professor”,’ said Mad-Eye Moody. ‘Didn’t get ‘round to much teaching, did I?’

John looked around at the others in the room, all pretending not to be watching him with interest.

‘Right, introductions, I suppose,’ said Lupin. ‘John, Sherlock, this is Alastor Moody.’

John nodded. It was slightly odd being introduced to someone he had already met.

‘He’s in charge of your protection.’

John glanced at him, and images of him protecting other Seers flashed through him. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I heard from Crouch that you protected a lot of Seers.’

‘Yeah, mostly from him,’ Moody frowned.

Then Lupin gestured towards a woman. She looked the youngest of everyone in the room, but John had trouble looking at her. Her appearance shifted rapidly, flashing bright colours. He put a hand to his hand and breathed deeply, forcing her image to slow until her outline settled. She had short, spiky, turquoise hair, and was looking at him curiously. ‘Don’t call her Nymphadora,’ he mumbled, before Lupin opened his mouth.

‘Wow!’ the woman said enthusiastically.

John shook his head, trying to get rid of the heavy feeling in his head. ‘Sorry, what?’ he said.

‘Tonks. You can call me Tonks.’

‘Nice to…’ John trailed off and sat down at the table, light-headed.

‘What’s wrong?’ Sherlock asked.

‘All this magic,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s making me feel funny.’

‘You spent too much time away from it.’

‘Or not enough,’ John grumbled.

Mrs Watson placed a cup of tea down in front of him, and kissed the top of his head. ‘It could be worse,’ she said bracingly. ‘If - if I understand it, it would have been worse if you’d gone straight back to Hogwarts, right?’

John smiled. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’

Lupin sat down next to him. ‘I see your power is stronger now,’ he said.

John snorted. He’d barely come into his power at all the last time he’d seen Lupin. ‘Unfortunately.’ John took a sip of his tea, and another man came through the front door.

‘Are we almost ready to go?’ he asked, in a deep, slow voice. Something about him caught John’s attention.

‘Kingsley Shacklebolt,’ he said, offering his hand.

John shook it, and suddenly saw him standing in front of a lot of people. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but there were flashes from several cameras, then everything compressed into a Patronus in the shape of a lynx before fading. John drank some more of his tea, hands shaking.

‘We’re just waiting for the signal,’ Lupin told Shacklebolt.

‘Tea, Mr Shacklebolt?’ Mrs Watson asked.

‘I would love some,’ he rumbled, looking at her intensely.

She smiled and tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

John gave her an incredulous look, but she just shrugged and blushed.

‘How long do we have to wait?’ Tonks asked. She went to pick up her mug, but knocked it on the floor. ‘Oops!’

‘Oh, don’t worry, it’s only a mug,’ said Mrs Watson. She grabbed a dustpan, but Tonks stopped her.

‘I’ll fix it. _Reparo.’_

The pieces of the mug flew back together, and Tonks gingerly placed it on the kitchen counter.

Lupin checked his watch. ‘An hour at the most, I’d say.’

‘Why do we need to wait?’ Sherlock asked, watching them all with interest.

‘Some of the others are making sure the area is clear. We don’t want to be attacked trying to leave,’ said Lupin.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Somewhere safe,’ Moody said gruffly. ‘Get me a glass of water, would you?’

John pushed himself up and got it for him.

Moody pressed a hand to his face, and popped out his magical eye, dropping it in the glass of water. ‘It keeps getting stuck. Ever since that _scum_ wore it.’

‘Mad-Eye, you do know that’s disgusting, don’t you?’ Tonks said conversationally.

Moody ignored her, and put his eye back in, spinning it around experimentally.

John rested his head on the table, the lack of sleep catching up with him.

‘You can rest when we get there,’ Moody barked, making him jump.

‘Sorry,’ John mumbled.

‘How are we getting there?’ Sherlock asked.

‘Side-Along Apparition,’ said Moody. ‘In and out, nice and quick.’ His magical eye was pointing up through the ceiling. ‘No one on the roof.’

Sherlock moved, so John could lean on his shoulder instead of the table. ‘Are you an Auror?’ he asked Tonks with interest.

‘Yep. Qualified a year ago,’ she said proudly.

‘I imagine you did quite well during your Concealment and Disguise unit.’

Tonks grinned. ‘How did you know?’

‘I saw you change your nose just now.’

‘What?’ John said, confused.

‘She’s a Metamorphmagus, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘She can change her appearance at will,’ Sherlock elaborated.

Tonks demonstrated, by screwing up her face, as though she were straining very hard, and changed her hair from turquoise to a violent purple.

‘Wow,’ John mumbled. He sounded a lot less impressed than he actually was, but he was too tired to express it.

Kingsley finished his tea and passed the mug back to Mrs Watson. ‘Wonderful tea, thank you,’ he said to her, and she turned pink again.

‘Me and Kingsley are staying here to look after your mum,’ Tonks said in amusement, catching the wink Kingsley gave Mrs Watson. ‘Until we can get all the protective spells in place.’

‘If you’re doing spells, can’t I stay here?’ John said hopefully.

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Lupin sympathetically. ‘The spells are only so strong, and if you’re not here, then there’s no reason for them to try and break through.’

John slumped again. ‘Fine.’

‘Signals are going up,’ said Moody. ‘Get your stuff ready.’ He stumped over to the front door, and waited for the others to join him.

John stood and hoisted his bag onto his back, sighing.

‘Oh, wait there,’ Mrs Watson said, hurrying up the stairs. They heard her rummaging around, then running back down the stairs. When she came back into the kitchen, she had a small red box, which she pressed into John’s hands.

‘What - no, Mum, I can’t take this,’ John said, pushing it back towards her.

‘He would want you to have it.’

John welled up. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, his voice constricted.

‘Yeah, I am.’

John hugged her. ‘Harriet will be upset when she finds out you gave it to me.’

‘I suppose it’ll be our secret, then,’ she smiled, wiping her eyes. Then she turned to Sherlock. ‘You’ll look after him?’

‘Mum-’

‘Of course I will,’ said Sherlock. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then unzipped John’s bag and pulled out the photo of his family.

‘Sherlock, what-?’

Sherlock carefully pulled off the back of the frame, and lifted out the letter inside, handing it to Mrs Watson.

Her eyes widened when she saw her name and recognised the writing. She gasped and put a hand to her chest. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, tears dripping down her face.

‘My pleasure.’

She hugged him, much to his surprise, then gave John one last hug. ‘Keep yourself safe,’ she said.

‘You too. Love you, Mum.’ He squeezed her tightly, then reluctantly let her go.

Sherlock held his hand down the corridor, and waited by the front door with Moody and Lupin.

‘Last signal, let’s go,’ he said, shoving the front door open.

John looked back to wave at his mother, then stepped outside.

‘You’ll see her again soon,’ Sherlock murmured.

John grimaced, and sucked in a breath, a sinking feeling in his stomach. ‘No, I don’t think I will.’ He scrubbed his face, and Lupin took his arm.

‘Hold on tight, John,’ he said. ‘Have you done this before?’

‘Yeah, once, with Mycroft.’

‘An expert already, then,’ Lupin said encouragingly. He grabbed John’s trunk, and made sure John’s grip was tight enough, then twisted in the air.

John clutched Lupin’s arm as everything went dark, and the air pressed in on him from all sides, making it impossible to breathe. Then it stopped and he took a gulp of the cool night air, letting go of Lupin.

‘Eurgh, I hate doing that,’ John complained, holding onto Sherlock. ‘You’re still in your pajamas.’

Sherlock’s lip twitched. ‘Well spotted.’

John rolled his eyes. ‘Where are we?’

They had Apparated onto a patch of uneven grass, in the middle of a small square. It was dark, but for Lupin’s illuminated wand.

‘Already took the lights out,’ Moody said to himself, rummaging around in his cloak.

‘Somewhere in London, I think,’ Sherlock murmured.

‘Not here,’ Lupin whispered.

John squinted at the houses around. From what he could see, they didn’t look very welcoming. The paint on most of the doors was peeling, and there was litter strewn over the pavements

‘Here,’ Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment into John’s hand.

He held it out, so both he and Sherlock could read it.

‘Read it quickly and memorise.’

The narrow handwriting was familiar, and it said:

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to OtakuElf, crazyreader12 and VegasGranny for the comments!  
> So these first few chapters are going to be a bit short, there's some small things I want to cover in them, but otherwise there's no need to go over so much from the book, I hope that's okay. As soon as we get back to Hogwarts, we'll start seeing some longer chapters.  
> Anyway, I'm still in isolation, so I'll probably see you all again soon!


	3. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

‘What’s the Order of the-?’ John began.

‘Not here!’ snarled Moody. ‘Wait ‘til we’re inside!’ He pulled the piece of parchment out of John’s hands and lit it on fire with the tip of his wand.

John looked around at the houses again. They were standing outside number eleven, to his left was number ten, to the right, however, was number thirteen.

Sherlock let out a soft, ‘ _ Oh.’ _

‘What?’

‘Think about what you just read,’ Sherlock whispered.

John thought, and as soon as he reached the part about number twelve, a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way.

‘Come on, hurry,’ Moody growled, prodding John in the back.

They walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialised door. Its black paint was shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox.

Lupin tapped the door once with his wand. Many loud, metallic clicks echoed inside, and the door creaked open. 

‘Get in quick,’ Lupin whispered, ‘but don’t go too far inside, and don’t touch anything.’

They stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hallway. It smelled damp, and dusty, with an almost sweet, rotting smell.

The others came in behind them, dragging in John’s trunk and Dolly’s tank. Moody was the last to limp inside, and closed the door behind him.

As soon as the door closed, John’s stomach lurched, and a terrible fear overcame him. ‘I don’t like it in here,’ he murmured, shaking his head and backing away. ‘Let me out.’ He turned around, but Sherlock was behind him, stopping him from leaving. ‘No, no, let me out.’ 

Sherlock grabbed his shoulders.

‘I don’t like it,’ John cried, shivering, and holding his head. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘Remember this,’ Sherlock muttered, squeezing John’s palm as Sam had shown them.

John nodded, squeezing it himself. It calmed him enough, but not all the way, and his heart still raced.

‘Ready?’ Lupin asked, putting a hand on John’s shoulder.

‘Yeah.’

Lupin took them upstairs and showed them to their room.

John immediately lay down on the bed with his eyes closed. It was as though the house itself was pouring with hatred, and it seeped into his bones. ‘Don’t make me stay here,’ he mumbled.

Sherlock sat beside him and held his hand. ‘We must. You’re safe here.’

‘Can’t you feel it?’

‘Of course I can.’

John curled into a ball. ‘It won’t stop.’

Sherlock looked around. ‘Perhaps we can make this room more comfortable.’ He began unpacking John’s things, putting up his photos, and setting Dolly’s tank up in a corner. ‘Does that help?’ he asked, bringing Dolly over to him. 

‘Not really.’

‘What about this?’ Sherlock bent down and kissed him softly.

John smiled slightly. ‘Yeah, maybe a bit.’

Sherlock kissed him again. ‘I’ll get Mycroft to get you some more of your things from home. Bedclothes and perhaps even your curtains. It should help with this room.’

John nodded tiredly. 

‘Get some rest,’ Sherlock said, ignoring his own bed across the room and climbing in beside John.

‘I’ll try,’ John mumbled, already falling asleep in Sherlock’s arms.

John woke up late the next day. Sherlock was beside him still, wide awake and staring at the ceiling. He sat up and groaned as the horrible feeling from the house came again, but there was something more familiar this time.

‘The Weasleys arrived this morning,’ Sherlock explained, feeling the familiarity too. ‘Mrs Weasley is ready to feed you, I think.’

‘I could eat.’ John slowly got to his feet, ignoring the dizziness. He hesitated at the door, knowing it would get worse as soon as he stepped out into the house, but he was getting hungry.

‘I could ask her to bring it up to you,’ Sherlock suggested.

John considered it. ‘I don’t want to be stuck in this room for the rest of the summer. I need to get a better grip on it anyway.’ He shook out his hands and walked out of the door, wavering only for a moment when it hit him again. He pressed his thumb into his palm harder, and stumbled downstairs into the kitchen.

‘Oh, John! Sherlock’ Mrs Weasley said when she saw him, pulling both of them in for a bone-cracking hug. ‘I’m so glad you’re all right!’

‘Thanks.’ 

‘I’m sure you’re hungry, I’ve made you both some breakfast. Come through, come through.’ She made them sit down at the table.

‘Where are the others?’ Sherlock asked. 

‘Upstairs,’ she told them. ‘Getting them to work cleaning this house, it’s a state.’

John chewed on some bacon.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ Mrs Weasley asked John. ‘You look awfully pale.’

‘I’m fine,’ said John. ‘I just don’t like this house.’

‘Man after my own heart.’

John started, and turned to see Sirius Black walk into the kitchen. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked.

Sirius shrugged, and sat down with his own plate of eggs and bacon. ‘Swell.’

‘What is this place, anyway?’

‘My mum’s old house,’ Sirius told them. ‘I’m the only Black left still alive, or not in Azkaban, so unfortunately it’s mine.’

‘Lovely old place.’

Sirius snorted. ‘Yeah, it’s lovely all right. I don’t really have much use for it, so I said the Order could use it as Headquarters.’

‘What’s the Order?’ Sherlock asked curiously.

‘Order of the Phoenix,’ Sirius said. ‘Dumbledore’s got us looking for information and fighting against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters.’

‘Sirius!’ Mrs Weasley exclaimed, horrified.

‘What? This one’s a Seer, and this one’s - well, he’s Sherlock,’ said Sirius reasonably. ‘Do you really think they won’t find out?’

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips, but said nothing. 

‘Oh okay, so what’s he doing?’ John asked. ‘How’re you fighting them?’

Sirius glanced uncomfortably at Mrs Weasley. ‘We don’t know yet. But we think Dumbledore’s hoping that you could help us find out.’

John dropped his bacon. ‘Oh.’

‘Why should he?’ Sherlock said coldly.

‘Sherlock…’ John muttered.

‘The Death Eaters wanted him for his power, and now you’re saying Dumbledore only wants him for his power?’ Sherlock continued. ‘If it’s not one side, it’s the other, so why should John do anything for any of you? I ought to just take him back to my house right now, where he can at least get some peace.’

‘It’s all right,’ John said, putting a hand on Sherlock’s arm. ‘I have this power for a reason, so I might as well use it for good.’

Sherlock scowled.

‘You know it’s not that simple,’ John said sadly. ‘At least this side doesn’t want to kill all Muggle-borns, all our friends… I want to get better at it. I want to help.’

‘And I just want you to be safe. Is that so terrible?’

John smiled bitterly. ‘No, but I won’t be safe until Voldemort - sorry - You-Know-Who’s defeated.’

‘Fine.’ Sherlock stood up and stormed from the room, and John sighed. 

‘You know, you don’t  _ have  _ to do anything,’ Mrs Weasley said kindly.

‘Yeah, I think I do. Thanks for breakfast, Mrs Weasley.’ John stood up and followed Sherlock out, wincing when he left Mrs Weasley’s presence, and once again felt the house’s anger and hatred.

He found Sherlock in their room, sitting on his bed with Dolly.

‘It’ll be okay,’ John said, sitting next to him.

‘No it won’t,’ Sherlock frowned. ‘It hurts you to go that far. To look at him.’

John thought back to the night Voldemort had returned, and how long Sherlock had held him together for. Even over a month later, Sherlock still felt the odd shock through his head from the experience. ‘I know it’s difficult,’ John said, ‘I’m scared too, but the quicker we find out what’s going on, the quicker we can get rid of him. Are you in this with me?’

‘I don’t really have much choice in the matter, do I?’

John rolled his eyes. 

‘But yes, I am.’

‘Good, because I would never be able to work any of it out myself,’ John smiled. ‘Sometimes I think you’re too smart for me.’

‘I’m too smart for everyone, I wouldn’t take it personally.’

John laughed, and Dolly leapt up onto his shoulder to warble in his ear.

For the rest of that day, they sat quietly in their room. They heard footsteps up and down all day, but no one disturbed them, except for Mycroft when he brought them Sherlock’s things, John’s curtains, and some extra blankets.

It wasn’t until that evening, after dinner, that Dumbledore finally made an appearance. 

He knocked on the door, and came in quietly. He conjured a chair, and sat before John and Sherlock on the bed.

‘Hello, Professor,’ John said politely, while Sherlock just folded his arms.

‘I understand that Sirius has already told you what I am to ask of you.’

‘Yeah, he did. And I want to help.’

Dumbledore smiled, and looked at Sherlock, who was glaring at him. ‘It’s not an easy thing to ask,’ he said. ‘I know how it affects you, and I wish I did not have to ask it at all.’

‘You don’t,’ Sherlock said shortly.

John elbowed him. 

‘Admirable,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Your desire to protect him is a powerful thing, Sherlock, but we need to understand Voldemort’s plans and movements. I need your help.’

‘Then it’s a good thing we’ve already agreed to do it, right Sherlock?’

Sherlock nodded stiffly.

‘Thank you,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Have you seen anything recently?’

‘Have you spoken to Mycroft?’

‘Not as of yet.’

John shifted, so he was sitting cross-legged. ‘I looked into my crystal ball after the Death Eaters got away, to see if I could see why they came. I didn’t see much, but we think Voldemort’s after something in the Department of Mysteries. They look like orbs on shelves. Mycroft might know what they are, but he wouldn’t tell us.’ John blinked rapidly as they flashed before his eyes.

Dumbledore frowned slightly. ‘I see.’

‘That - that’s it right now,’ John said a little sheepishly, feeling as though he should have somehow seen more.

‘Thank you, John.’ Dumbledore stood up and waved his wand, getting rid of the chair he’d conjured. ‘I must also ask you not to tell Harry about anything you may see or hear whilst you are here.’

‘Why?’ Sherlock said suspiciously.

‘Harry must be told at the right time, otherwise he could put himself in danger.’

‘He won’t like that,’ John frowned.

‘No,’ Dumbledore agreed. ‘I’ll be back soon. Thank you for your help.’ Then Dumbledore was gone, and Sherlock was still seething.

‘He shouldn’t be using you like this.’

‘Why not? If you’ve got the tools, you might as well use them.’

Sherlock turned and kissed John forcefully. ‘You’re not a tool, John.’

‘If you say so.’

‘You’re not going to think about it anymore tonight,’ Sherlock said. 

‘Oh really? What am I going to do instead?’

Sherlock smiled. ‘Perhaps you’d like to listen to me play the violin for a while.’

‘Do you want me to hold up your sheet music?’ John grinned. 

‘That would be lovely.’

Over the following weeks, the Weasleys got to work on the house, and John and Sherlock practised with the crystal ball. The blankets and curtains that Mycroft had brought fended off the malice coming from the rest of the house, and it slowly receded while the others cleaned out the rooms.

Hermione arrived not long after John did, hugging him tightly when she saw him.

While John was staring into the misty depths of his crystal ball, Sherlock wandered the house, watching the various members of the Order of the Phoenix coming and going.

They had meetings that not even John and Sherlock were allowed to attend, though it didn’t stop Fred and George attempting to eavesdrop anyway.

They all started getting letters from Harry, demanding information, but they had all been sworn to secrecy by Dumbledore.

‘He’s getting really upset,’ John said, after feeling the searing frustration through Harry’s latest letter. He fell back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. So far, he hadn’t seen anything more useful than he had the night the Death Eaters came for him. The mist in his crystal ball kept turning pink, and showing him Dolly, but neither of them could work out why. 

John sighed and picked it up again. ‘What’s Voldemort doing?’ he asked it. It showed him the Dark Mark again, and he shuddered. ‘Yes, but what about it?’ Then it showed him the orbs. ‘Okay, but what  _ are  _ they?’ The mist swirled for a moment, until it showed a thin version of himself. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ His image fell apart, and clumped together to show him Professor Trelawney. ‘That’s new,’ he frowned, squinting at it. ‘Professor Trelawney. Is she something to do with it?’

Her image disappeared, and it started forming something else, then all of the mist fell apart, vibrating. It seemed confused for a moment, as though distracted by something else. John gasped, and a vision took him. He saw Harry, and another boy. It was dark and cold, though John was certain it was still the summer he was seeing. Harry had his wand out, then John saw it. A Dementor, swooping down on them. 

John yanked himself out of it, breathing heavily. He ran out of the room and down the stairs, barging into the kitchen, not particularly caring if they were having a meeting. 

‘Is anyone watching Harry?’ he asked, tripping onto the table.

Everyone around the table gaped at him. 

‘Yes, why?’ Lupin asked.

John relaxed slightly. ‘Good. Are the Dementors still guarding Azkaban?’

Lupin glanced at Sirius. ‘They are.’

John blinked. ‘Oh.’

‘What’s going on, John?’

‘I saw - I saw Harry being attacked by a Dementor. He was at home, I think. Or nearby.’

Sirius leapt to his feet. ‘We have to go and get him!’

‘Sit down, Sirius,’ Lupin said firmly, then put his hands on John’s shoulders. ‘When does this happen, John?’

John’s head thumped. ‘Erm, soon. I - I don’t know exactly…’ He trailed off, breathing deeply through his nose, and squeezing his palm. The pain retreated, but left dizziness in his wake, and Mrs Weasley sat him in a chair. 

‘You have to watch Harry,’ John mumbled, resting his head on the table, unaware of all the people in the room staring at him. ‘I don’t like it in this house,’ he said again, passing out where he sat.

When he woke up again, everything was a flurry of activity, except for Sherlock sitting beside him ‘What’s going on?’ he asked blearily.

‘They’re trying to work out what to do about Harry, I think,’ Sherlock said, watching them all with interest. 

‘Has he been attacked?’

‘I don’t think so. Not yet.’

John sighed, slumping back in his seat. 

‘You’re pushing yourself too hard,’ said Sherlock.

‘So? If I don’t, then someone might get hurt. Come on, let’s go back to our room, my head hurts.’

John threw himself down on his bed, and Sherlock sat at the foot of it, his own bed still unused. John went to grab his crystal ball, but Sherlock wouldn’t let him have it. He put it away in the bag, and put it on top of the wardrobe, where John couldn’t reach it.

‘Come on, Sherlock, it’s not funny. Dumbledore asked for my help.’

‘And he’ll get it at your own pace,’ Sherlock insisted. ‘I need help with something else anyway.’

‘What could you possibly need help with?’

Sherlock smiled widely, and crept to the bedroom door. ‘Fred and George are inventing something, and I want to know what it is. They won’t let me in, but you’re the reason they have a business at all. They might let you see it.’

John laughed in disbelief. ‘Why do you care about it?’

Sherlock poked his head around the door. ‘Because,’ he whispered, ‘they’re better at inventing things than I am, and I want to know how they’re doing it.’

‘You could just ask.’

‘They would never give away trade secrets.’

John laughed. ‘Are you really asking me to spy on Fred and George?’

‘Yes.’

John shrugged. ‘All right, then.’

For a couple of days, John and Sherlock snuck around after Fred and George, even stealing their Extendable Ear prototype so Sherlock could examine it, then sneaking it back before the twins noticed it as missing.

They were laughing breathlessly together one evening, John almost beginning to feel normal, when Hedwig swooped in through the window and sat next to him. She had notes for John, Hermione, Ron, and Sirius. John took his and opened it.

_ I’ve just been attacked by Dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what’s going on and when I’m going to get out of here.  _

‘They were supposed to be watching him!’ John exclaimed. ‘Ouch!’ Hedwig pecked at him, hard enough to draw blood. ‘I don’t have an answer,’ he said to her. She just pecked him again, then fluttered off to find Ron and Hermione.

Not long after, they heard shouting downstairs, and John ran down to see what was happening. 

‘You were supposed to have a tail on him!’ he yelled, to no one in particular. ‘You were supposed to be protecting him.’

Mrs Weasley put an arm around him. ‘We’re not sure what happened just yet,’ she said gently.

‘What are you doing now? Are you helping him or not?’

‘We’re sorting something out,’ Lupin said, pausing in front of him. ‘We’re looking at extracting him by air.’

‘Why? Can’t you just Apparate him, like you did with me?’

‘No,’ Moody growled, stumping past. ‘Not safe.’

‘How is flying safer than Apparating?’ John demanded. 

‘Not your concern. Get back upstairs.’

‘Come on, dear, they’ll sort it all out.’ Mrs Weasley pushed him firmly towards the stairs.

‘But-’

‘John.’ Sherlock grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back up the stairs.

John stomped around his room. ‘What is the  _ point!’  _ he shouted. ‘Why do I bother? Why do I have to see all of these awful things happen, if I can’t do anything about it?’

‘John-’

‘DON’T TELL ME IT’S OKAY, IT ISN’T. I SAW HIM COME BACK. I SAW CEDRIC DIE. IT HURTS SO MUCH, AND IT STILL DOESN’T HELP!’

Sherlock just watched him, silently listening to John’s rage, and crumpling up Harry’s letter.

John lay down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. ‘I can’t do it. I just can’t.’

‘No one says you have to,’ Sherlock said, kneeling beside him.

‘But then, what’s it for?’

‘I don’t know that, John.’

John groaned loudly, stamping his feet into the floor.

Sherlock didn’t say anything else, but he pulled all the blankets off the beds and built a fort around them both.

‘Really?’ John said tiredly. 

‘Humour me.’

John rolled over onto his stomach, but allowed Sherlock to put a pillow under his head, then cuddled up to him. He didn’t think about anything else but his and Sherlock’s heartbeat, until Harry arrived downstairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to OtakuElf, VegasGranny and hhhelcat for the comments!  
> My quarantine period is almost over and I'm so excited to finally leave my house. Thanks again for reading, and I'll see you again next time!


	4. The Order of the Phoenix

John was the first to know when Harry came through the front door, followed by everyone else when the portrait of Sirius’ mother began screeching.

John groaned, pushing himself up on his elbows. ‘Harry’s here,’ he mumbled.

‘Mmm.’ Sherlock was already half asleep, but rolled over blearily. ‘We should see if he’s all right.’

They crawled out of the fort Sherlock had built, and stumbled out into the hallway.

John was hit by the wall of malice again, though its intensity had begun to fade, since the Weasleys and Hermione cleared out more of the rooms.

There was a meeting going on in the kitchen, but once the portrait’s screaming was quietened, there were hushed voices, and Mrs Weasley brought Harry up the stairs.

‘Just there, on the right,’ Mrs Weasley said, pointing at Ron’s room, before dashing back down to the meeting.

Harry gave John a confused look, who just shrugged, and led him into Ron’s room.

As soon as Harry was in the room, Hermione threw herself at him, nearly knocking him flat, and John dropped onto one of the beds with Sherlock.

‘HARRY! Oh, how  _ are  _ you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless - but we couldn’t tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn’t, oh, we’ve got so much to tell you, and you’ve got things to tell us - the Dementors! When we heard - and that Ministry hearing - it’s outrageous, I’ve looked it all up, they can’t expel you, they just can’t, there’s provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations-’

‘Let him breathe, Hermione,’ said Ron, grinning as he closed the door behind Harry.

Hedwig then soared down from the top of a wardrobe and landed on Harry’s shoulder.

‘She’s been in a right state,’ said Ron. ‘Pecked us half to death when she brought us your last letters.’

‘Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know-’

‘We wanted to give them to you, mate,’ Ron said. ‘Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you’d do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us-’

‘-swear not to tell me,’ said Harry. ‘Yeah, Hermione’s already said.’

John looked Harry up and down. He could almost see the anger bubbling up inside him, and it only got stronger as he paced around, asking them why Dumbledore wouldn’t let them tell him anything.

‘Maybe he thinks I can’t be trusted,’ said Harry.

‘Don’t be thick,’ said Ron.

‘Or that I can’t take care of myself.’

‘Of course he doesn’t think that,’ Hermione said anxiously.

‘So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys’ while you lot get to join in everything that’s going on here?’ Harry demanded.

Pain lanced through John’s head and his eyes watered.

‘How come you’re allowed to know everything that’s going on?’

‘We’re not!’ Ron interrupted. ‘Mum won’t let us near the meetings, she says we’re too young-’

‘SO YOU HAVEN’T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU’VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN’T YOU? YOU’VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I’VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS’ FOR A MONTH! AND I’VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU LOT HAVE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT!’

Sherlock prickled, but John placated him with a hand.

‘WHO SAVED THE PHILOSOPHER’S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW  _ HIM  _ COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!’

John squeezed Sherlock’s knee, forcing him to hold his tongue, and keep from reminding Harry that they had both done several of those things as well.

‘BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT’S BEEN HAPPENING?’

‘Harry, we wanted to tell you, we really did-’

‘CAN’T HAVE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU’D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT  _ DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR-’ _

_ ‘ _ Well, he did-’

‘FOUR WEEKS I’VE BEEN NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT’S GOING ON-’

‘We wanted to-’

‘I SUPPOSE YOU’VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN’T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER-’

John winced, Harry finally hitting a nerve, and clenched his fists. ‘Yeah, I’ve been having a fantastic time,’ he snapped. ‘I’ve had Death Eaters try to kidnap me and kill my mum, I’m not going to see her again until Voldemort’s gone, and I’ve been stuck inside a house that hates me  _ personally,  _ all the while people are expecting me to be able to just watch in on Voldemort and find out what he’s planning, but yeah, I’m having a brilliant time. Just bloody wonderful.’

Harry ground his teeth, but stopped shouting.

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, calming his temper. ‘What hearing?’ he asked.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

‘What? Why do people keep expecting me to just know everything?’

‘Harry’s got a hearing for doing a Patronus in front of a Muggle,’ Sherlock explained. ‘You’ve got one too.’

‘I have? I thought Mycroft was meant to be sorting it?’

‘He will. It’ll just be a formality, probably just Madam Bones asking you some questions.’

John groaned and lay back on the bed, not bothering to input while Ron and Hermione explained where they were to Harry, but decided he’d had enough when Fred and George Apparated into the room, and left.

‘I can’t wait to get out of this house,’ he grumbled, sitting in the fort while they waited for dinner.

Sherlock played with the crystal ball, rolling it around in his hands. He never saw anything in it, but he could feel its energy through John. It was indeed a powerful object, and no doubt the reason Cassandra Trelawney was renowned for her prophecies. He offered it to John, who shook his head. 

‘Too hungry,’ John said, pushing it away.

Sherlock shrugged, and hid it away in its black pouch.

Eventually, Mrs Weasley knocked on their door, and called everyone to dinner.

Down the stairs and into the basement, where the kitchen was, the majority of the Order was milling around, waiting for their food.

John passed what looked like a pile of rags in one corner, but it moved slightly, and John recognised it. He poked it, and a head of dirty ginger hair popped out.

‘You were supposed to be watching Harry,’ John accused angrily.

‘Oh, so you knew he was tailing me?’ Harry scowled. 

‘I  _ tried  _ to get them to protect you,’ John said, dropping into a chair beside Harry, with Sherlock on his other side.

‘I don’t need protecting, thanks,’ Harry said shortly. 

‘Right, because we all get randomly attacked by Dementors.’

‘Who’s helping me set the table?’ Mrs Weasley said loudly, interrupting their sniping.

Ginny and Tonks hurried forward, Tonks knocking almost everything over along the way, and helped gather up the cutlery.

Sirius and Lupin also sat down at the table, along with the rest of the Weasleys.

‘How are you getting on, John?’ Lupin asked.

‘I haven’t seen anything worth something yet,’ John frowned.

‘That’s not what I was asking.’

‘Oh.’ John looked up at his kind smile. ‘I’m all right, I suppose. This house…’

‘Yeah, tell me about it,’ Sirius laughed. ‘Don’t worry, it hates me too.’

‘And you, Sherlock?’ said Lupin, nodding at Sherlock.

Sherlock just shrugged.

Mr Weasley passed everyone a goblet, and Mundungus surveyed his with interest.

‘Sirius, mate, this solid silver?’

‘Yes,’ Sirius said distastefully. ‘Finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest.’

John snorted. ‘Who even still has a family crest?’ he smirked.

‘We do,’ Sherlock said flatly. 

‘Yeah, that’s my point.’

‘Fred - George - NO, JUST CARRY THEM!’ Mrs Weasley shrieked.

They all looked around, then dove away from the table. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of Butterbeer and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air towards them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface; the flagon of Butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere; the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius’s right hand had been seconds before.

‘FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!’ screamed Mrs Weasley. ‘THERE WAS NO NEED - I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS - JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW, YOU DON’T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!’

Sherlock laughed softly, holding John’s hand under the table.  _ Not long until I can do whatever magic I like. _

John rolled his eyes.  _ I can hardly wait.  _

Lupin and Bill helped pass around plates of stew and slices of bread, until everyone around the table had some food. Then Mrs Weasley turned to Sirius.

‘I’ve been meaning to tell you, Sirius, there’s something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a Boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out.’

‘Whatever you like,’ Sirius said indifferently.

‘The curtains are full of Doxys, too. I thought we might try to tackle them tomorrow.’

‘I look forward to it,’ Sirius said, not hiding the note of sarcasm very well.

John focused on eating his food. There were so many people around the table, and all the noise was beginning to blur together. He squeezed Sherlock’s hand. ‘I don’t like this,’ he muttered. 

‘I’m sure you’ll be all right as soon as we can leave this house.’

‘What if I’m not?’

Sherlock didn’t have an answer, and John sighed.

The food helped, and the noise quietened down when everyone finished their food. The energy in the room became sleepy, and John relaxed as everyone else did, watching Crookshanks chase Butterbeer corks under the table.

‘Nearly time for bed, I think,’ said Mrs Weasley with a yawn.

‘Not just yet, Molly,’ said Sirius, turning to Harry. ‘You know, I’m surprised at you. I thought the first thing you’d do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort.’

John shuddered as everyone around him tensed.

‘I did!’ Harry said indignantly. ‘I asked everyone, but they said we’re not allowed in the Order, so-’

‘And they’re quite right,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘You’re too young.’

‘Since when did someone have to be in the Order to ask questions?’ asked Sirius. ‘Harry’s been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He’s got the right to know-’

‘Hang on!’ George interrupted loudly.

‘How come Harry gets his questions answered?’ Fred said angrily.

‘ _ We’ve  _ been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven’t told us a single stinking thing!’ said George.

‘Harry’s not even of age!’

The table devolved into an argument about whether or not Harry should be told what’s going on, and John’s temperature rose, flushing his cheeks, his head spinning.

‘We should get back upstairs,’ Sherlock whispered, concerned, but John’s legs refused to move, and they both remained at the table, rooted to their seats. 

‘I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this,’ Lupin said calmly, ‘he’s old enough to decide for himself.’

‘I want to know what’s been going on,’ Harry said at once.

‘Very well,’ said Mrs Weasley, her voice cracking. ‘Ginny - Ron - Hermione - John - Sherlock - Fred - George - I want you out of this kitchen, now!’

There was instant uproar.

‘We’re of age!’ Fred and George bellowed together.

Sherlock just laughed.

‘If Harry’s allowed, why can’t I?’ shouted Ron.

‘Mum, I  _ want  _ to hear!’ wailed Ginny.

‘NO!’ shouted Mrs Weasley, standing up. ‘I absolutely forbid-’

‘Molly, you can’t stop Fred and George,’ said Mr Weasley wearily. ‘They  _ are  _ of age.’

‘They’re still at school.’

‘But they’re legally adults now,’ said Mr Weasley, in the same tired voice.

Mrs Weasley was now scarlet in the face.

‘I - oh - all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron-’

‘Harry’ll tell us everything you say anyway!’ Ron said hotly. ‘Won’t - won’t you?’

‘Course I will,’ Harry said.

‘Fine!’ shouted Mrs Weasley. ‘Fine! Ginny - BED!’

Ginny did not go quietly. They could hear her storming and raging at her mother all the way up the stairs, waking up Mrs Black’s portrait, adding her shrieks to the din.

Lupin hurried off to calm the portrait.

‘Are you all right with this?’ Sherlock asked John.

John shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ll see something.’

Lupin returned, closing the door behind him, and Sirius spoke.

‘Okay, Harry, what do you want to know?’

Harry took a deep breath. ‘Where’s Voldemort? What’s he doing?’

The room wavered, and John was forced into a dark, but familiar house. He caught sight of Wormtail, and Voldemort very briefly before snapping back to the kitchen, clenching his fist.

‘How come he’s stopped killing people?’ Harry’s voice came from far away.

‘Because he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself,’ said Sirius. ‘It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn’t come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed up.’

‘Or rather, you two messed it up for him,’ Lupin said with a satisfied smile, pointing at Harry and John.

‘How?’ Harry asked.

‘You weren’t supposed to survive! You weren’t supposed to see him!’ said Sirius. ‘Nobody apart from his Death Eaters was supposed to know he’d come back. But Crouch got cocky with the curse he put on John, and you survived to bear witness.’

‘And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore,’ said Lupin. ‘And you two made sure Dumbledore knew at once.’

Harry nodded. ‘All right, so what’s the Order been doing?’

‘Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can’t carry out his plans,’ said Sirius.

‘How d’you know what his plans are?’ Harry asked quickly.

‘Dumbledore’s got a shrewd idea, thanks to John,’ said Lupin, ‘and Dumbledore’s shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate.’

‘So what does Dumbledore reckon he’s planning?’

‘Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again.’

John shuddered so violently he almost fell out of his seat. He saw Dementors swooping around amidst giants, and acromantula.

‘So you’re trying to stop him getting more followers?’ Harry continued.

‘We’re doing our best,’ said Lupin.

‘How?’

‘Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard. It’s proving tricky, though.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of the Ministry’s attitude. Fudge is absolutely refusing to believe it’s happened.’

‘But why?’ Harry said desperately. ‘Why’s he being so stupid?’

‘He’s frightened of Dumbledore,’ Sherlock explained. ‘He thinks Dumbledore’s making everything up to try and destabilise his position, and take over as Minister for Magic.’

‘But Dumbledore doesn’t want-’

‘Of course he doesn’t,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘He’s never wanted the Minister’s job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it, and Fudge never forgot the support he had, even though he never applied for the job.’

‘And accepting that Voldemort’s back would cause trouble for the Ministry that they haven’t had to deal with for fourteen years. It’s far more comfortable for him to convince himself that Dumbledore’s lying than face it,’ said Sirius.

‘And while the Ministry insists that there is nothing to fear from Voldemort, it becomes ever harder to convince people he’s back. That’s why he’s been leaning so heavily on the  _ Daily Prophet,’  _ Lupin said. ‘Deny Voldemort’s return and discredit Dumbledore. Two birds with one stone.’

‘But you’re all letting people know he’s back, right?’

Grimaces and sighs ran around the table.

‘Well, seeing as everyone still thinks I’m a mass murderer, I can’t really go around handing out leaflets,’ Sirius said bitterly. ‘Arthur and Tonks would lose their jobs if they started shooting their mouths off, and it’s really important to have spies in the Ministry. We already know Voldemort has them. We just don’t know who they are.’

‘We’ve managed to convince a couple of people, though,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘Tonks here, for one - she’s too young to have been in the Order last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage - Kingsley Shacklebolt’s been a huge asset; he’s in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he’s been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet. Mycroft as well has been invaluable. It’s very handy to have someone so high up in the Ministry on our side.’

‘Right, but if Voldemort’s trying to recruit more Death Eaters it’s bound to get out that he’s come back, isn’t it?’ Harry asked.

‘Voldemort doesn’t just march up to people’s houses and bang on their front doors, Harry,’ said Sirius. ‘He tricks, jinxes, and blackmails them. He’s well-practised at operating in secret. In any case, gathering followers is only one of the things he’s interested in. He’s got other plans too, plans he can only put into operation very quietly, and he’s concentrating on those for the moment.’

‘What’s he after apart from followers?’ Harry asked swiftly.

John’s head throbbed again.

‘Stuff he can only get by stealth. Like a weapon. Something he didn’t have last time.’

John grunted, swept away into a swirling vision before he could stop it. He couldn’t hear anything, but he found himself sitting in front of Professor Trelawney, only she looked much younger than he remembered. She appeared to be in a trance, and her lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. He tried to focus on her, but it hurt his head, and before he could get anywhere, he was flung somewhere else. He briefly saw Snape, and a Death Eater mask, then he saw the white orb again, so bright that it burned his eyes. He turned away from it, but everything turned bright pink, before he pulled himself out of it. 

The kitchen still had a pink tint to it when John came around, and he felt the familiar stickiness of blood on his face from his nose bleeding again. ‘Ugh.’

Sherlock’s arm was protectively wrapped around him.

When he looked up, everyone but Lupin and Sirius had disappeared from the table.

‘What happened?’ he mumbled. ‘Why is everything pink?’

They glanced at each other. 

‘I think we should get you to bed,’ Lupin said, concerned. ‘Everyone else is already gone.’

‘What- what’s the weapon?’ John asked, climbing unsteadily to his feet. ‘Is it the orb thing? What is it?’

Lupin frowned. ‘I think you ought to ask Dumbledore when you next see him. I’m not sure if we’re supposed to tell you or not.’

‘Mm.’ John didn’t argue any further, and allowed them to guide him up the stairs and into bed, where he dreamt pink dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to OtakuElf, VegasGranny, hhhellcat, raingingcatz and Novak26 for the comments! See you again next time!


	5. The House of Black

Low voices and footsteps mingled with John’s dreams that night. They whispered in his ears, twisting around him. White fog filled his vision, flashing pink and green, and the voices were always just out of reach, beyond the oppressive atmosphere of the house. It would not allow him to pass, to see where the footsteps and the voices came from. Some he thought he recognised, buried deep in his memory, but always escaping him.

The morning came, and John felt no more rested than he had the night before, and everything was still tinged with pink. He stabbed moodily at his breakfast, listening to the others upstairs, getting ready to clean out the drawing room.

‘That room’s got loads of artefacts and things in it, doesn’t it?’ John asked curiously.

‘Do you… want to help clean it?’ Sherlock said.

‘Well, I’m bored,’ John complained. ‘And I’m tired of being so useless. I want to help do  _ something.’ _

‘You’re not bored, I am,’ Sherlock said shortly. 

‘Right, so it’s you dying to get your hands on some of those artefacts, then?’

Sherlock glanced at him, the corner of his mouth turning up.

‘I think we should go and help,’ John said, wiping his hands on his shirt. ‘Some of those things could be dangerous, so I reckon I should get a look at them first. You know, just in case…’

Sherlock grinned and stood up. ‘I think you have the right idea. It’s for their protection, really.’

‘Of course.’ John looped his arm through Sherlock’s, and they both climbed the stairs to the drawing room. 

‘Oh, John, dear, you don’t need to get stuck in all this,’ Mrs Weasley said when she saw him.

They had already begun spraying the curtains that were infested by Doxys.

‘No we want to help,’ John insisted, even though his head was already swimming from the smell of Doxycide.

Mrs Weasley gave them a sceptical look, but passed them both a cloth mask and a bottle of Doxycide spray.

It was past midday by the time they were done, and Mrs Weasley slumped onto a dusty old sofa. The curtains were sopping wet, but they no longer buzzed. All the Doxys were dead.

‘I think we’ll tackle  _ those  _ after lunch.’ Mrs Weasley pointed at the dusty glass-fronted cabinets standing on either side of the mantlepiece. They were crammed with an odd assortment of objects, and Sherlock’s eyes shone as he looked at them.

Then the clanging doorbell rang, and everyone looked at Mrs Weasley. 

'Stay here,' she said firmly as Mrs Black's screeches started up again. 'I'll bring up some sandwiches.' 

She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. At once, everyone dashed over to the window to look down on the doorstep. They could see the top of an unkempt gingery head, and a stack of precariously balanced cauldrons. 

'Mundungus!' said Hermione. 'What's he brought all those cauldrons for?' 

'Probably looking for a safe place to keep them,' said Harry. 'Isn't that what he was doing the night he was supposed to be tailing me? Picking up dodgy cauldrons?' 

'Castiel wouldn't like that. They look a little thin,' said Sherlock, casting a critical eye over the cauldrons. 'He read that report on shallow-bottomed cauldrons so many times; he could probably recite it by now.' 

John frowned. 'Do you think Dumbledore will bring him here with us?' 

Sherlock shrugged. 'He might, he might not. He's a difficult man to predict.' 

'You could always ask Mycroft.'

'I could ask, doesn't mean I'm likely to get an answer.' 

Fred and George crossed over to the door, listening intently. Mrs Black’s screaming stopped.

‘Mundungus is talking to Sirius and Kingsley,’ Fred muttered, frowning with concentration. ‘Can’t hear properly… d’you reckon we can risk Extendable Ears?’

‘Might be worth it,’ said George

But at that precise moment there was an explosion of sound from downstairs that rendered Extendable Ears quite unnecessary. All of them could hear exactly what Mrs Weasley was shouting at the top of her voice. 

‘WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!’

‘I love hearing Mum shout at someone else,’ said Fred, opening the door an inch or so to allow Mrs Weasley’s voice to permeate the room, ‘it makes such a nice change.’

‘-COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE, AS IF WE HAVEN’T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE-’

‘The idiots are letting her get into her stride,’ said George shaking his head. ‘You’ve got to head her off early, or she builds up a head of steam and goes on for hours. And she’s been dying to have a go at Mundungus ever since he snuck off when he was supposed to be tailing you, Harry - and there goes Sirius’s mum again.’

Mrs Weasley’s voice was lost amid fresh shrieks and screams and John put his hands over his ears. 

All the noise was making his head rattle, so he looked around for a distraction. He ended up fixed on Sherlock, as usual, and frowned at the worry he found crossing Sherlock’s mind, like a heavy cloud.

'Are you worried about Castiel?' John asked him, just as Kreacher the house-elf sidled into the room. 

'Not so much worried as… mildly concerned.' 

'It's okay to be worried, he's your friend,' John said gently. 'What's got you so - concerned?' 

'I haven't heard from him yet,' Sherlock said. 'I've usually had several letters from him by now.' 

John nodded. 'He might just be busy.' 

'Have you had anything from him?' 

John thought about it. 'No actually,' he frowned, then addressed everyone else in the room. 'Hey, has anyone heard from Castiel?' 

They all looked around at each other. 

'Nothing,' said Hermione. 

'I sent Hedwig to him a few times, but I never got anything back,' Harry said. 

Sherlock’s frown deepened. 

'Do you think he's all right?' Hermione asked. 

'It's hard to tell,' John said uncertainly. 'He's so far away, and he's difficult to look at. But he's at home as far as I can see. Can't be in too much trouble, right?' John rubbed his eyes, Castiel's bright figure dazzling him again. ‘I’m sure he’s fine.’

Sherlock sighed, and John could still feel his uneasiness.

‘Why don’t we send an owl to Dean, see if he’s heard anything?’ John suggested. ‘Harry, can we borrow Hedwig?’

‘Yeah, all right.’

‘See, there you go.’

Sherlock nodded distractedly. 

‘Come on, cheer up. We’ve still got those cabinets to go through,’ said John, nudging him with an elbow.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but smiled. 

‘What do you want, Kreacher?’ George said loudly, drawing attention to the ancient house-elf attempting to sneak around the edge of the room.

‘Kreacher is cleaning,’ he said evasively.

‘A likely story.’

Sirius had come up to the room and was glowering at the elf from the doorway. The noise in the hall had abated; Mrs Weasley and Mundungus had taken their argument into the kitchen.

‘What are you up to?’ Sirius demanded.

‘Kreacher is cleaning,’ the elf repeated. ‘Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black-’

‘And it’s getting blacker every day, it’s filthy,’ said Sirius.

‘Master always liked his little joke,’ said Kreacher, then continuing in an undertone. ‘Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother’s heart-’

‘My mother didn’t have a heart, Kreacher,’ snapped Sirius. ‘She kept herself alive out of pure spite.’

‘Whatever Master says,’ Kreacher muttered furiously. ‘Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother’s boots, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say of she saw Kreacher serving him, how she hated him, what a disappointment he was-’

‘I asked what you were up to,’ Sirius said coldly. ‘Every time you show up pretending to be cleaning, you sneak something off to your room so we can’t throw it out.’

‘Kreacher would never move anything from its proper place in Master’s house,’ said the elf, then muttered very fast, ‘Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out, seven centuries it’s been in the family, Kreacher must save it, Kreacher will not let Master and the blood traitors and the brats destroy it-’

‘I thought it might be that,’ said Sirius, casting a disdainful look at the opposite wall, where a moth-eaten curtain was hanging. ‘She’ll have put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of it, I don’t doubt, but if I can get rid of it, I certainly will. Now go away, Kreacher.’

It seemed that Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him was full of deepest loathing, and he muttered all the way out of the room.

Sirius swung the door closed once he was gone, and walked across the room, pulling aside the curtain that was concealing a huge tapestry.

It was immensely old, fading, with Doxy teeth marks around the edges, and hung the entire length of the wall. Nevertheless, the gold thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree, dating back to the Middle Ages. Large words at the top of the tapestry read: 

_ The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black _

_ ‘Toujours pur’ _

‘It means “Always pure”,’ Sherlock said with distaste.

‘You’re not on here!’ Harry said to Sirius, after scanning the bottom of the tree.

‘I used to be there,’ said Sirius, pointing at a small, round, charred hole in the tapestry, rather like a cigarette burn. ‘My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home - Kreacher’s quite fond of muttering the story under his breath.’

‘Oh look, you’re here,’ John said to Sherlock, squinting at Sherlock’s name. 

‘Yes, I imagine so. All the pure-blood families are interrelated.’

‘Ew.’

‘Quite.’ Sherlock bent to stare at his own name on the tapestry. ‘I think I’ve done more than enough to have myself removed from this. Fraternising with Muggle-borns and all that. Sirius, would you do the honours?’

‘Gladly.’

Sherlock stepped back, and Sirius aimed his wand.

‘ _ Reducto.’ _

Sherlock’s name was erased from the tapestry, and he gave a satisfied smile. ‘Much better.’

John snorted, and Mrs Weasley came in with a huge tray of sandwiches. 

‘Lunch!’ she called.

John and Sherlock went over to her, leaving Harry to chat with Sirius in front of the tapestry.

‘That means you’re related to the Malfoys,’ John teased.

‘Yes, and the Weasleys. There aren’t many pure-bloods left, so there’s not much choice in who to marry if you want to keep the bloodline pure.’

‘That’s really horrible.’

‘I agree.’

Ron threw himself down beside John on the sofa, stuffing sandwiches into his mouth. ‘Nervous about the hearing?’ he asked.

John shrugged. ‘I keep forgetting about that.’

‘I don’t see why he should be,’ said Sherlock. ‘There are witnesses saying he was attacked, which is more than Harry has anyway.’

‘What, you think Harry’s going to be expelled.’

‘Of course not. Dumbledore would never allow it.’

‘Hurry up, you two, before all the food’s gone,’ Mrs Weasley called over to Harry and Sirius.

Sirius sighed and threw a dark look over the tapestry before drawing the curtain back over it.

As soon as the sandwiches were finished, they started on the glass-fronted cabinet. 

John sat down heavily the moment the doors were open, all the artefacts pouring out vile energy that made John queasy. He satisfied himself with identifying which were more dangerous from a safe distance.

‘Sirius, I don’t suppose I could have some of these?’ Sherlock asked, examining a silver snuffbox that appeared to contain wartcap powder. ‘Mycroft might be able to find some use for them.’

‘As long as you’re careful,’ said Mrs Weasley.

‘You won’t let us have any of this stuff!’ George said indignantly.

‘I don’t want you messing with it, and doing odd experiments.’

‘What, and you think he won’t?’ said Fred.

‘I won’t hear any more about it,’ Mrs Weasley said firmly, moving onto the next shelf of one of the cabinets.

Sherlock took the box, but slipped it to Fred when Mrs Weasley wasn’t looking.

‘Careful of that one!’ John said, pointing at an unpleasant silver instrument, that looked something like a many-legged pair of tweezers.

Sirius grabbed it and smashed it just as it attempted to stab Harry with one of its many sharp appendages. He then threw it into a large sack, along with several other things that Sherlock, Fred and George had all deemed unuseful.

More things came out of the cabinets, including a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune, and they all found themselves becoming strangely weak and sleepy, until Ginny had the good sense to slam the lid of the box shut. It was thrown unceremoniously into the sack.

There was also a copy of  _ Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy,  _ and a heavy locket that no one could open, but made John’s head hurt so much he had to lie down. It too went into the sack when John made everyone stop trying to open it.

Several times, Kreacher attempted to smuggle things out of the room, and muttered horrible curses under his breath every time he was caught. When Sirius wrested a large golden ring bearing the Black family crest from his grip, Kreacher actually burst into tears and left the room sobbing, calling Sirius names under his breath.

‘Don’t feel too sorry for him,’ Sherlock said to John, who was watching Kreacher once again attempt to sneak into the room. ‘He’s a horrible little thing.’

‘If he’s so awful, why not just free him?’

‘Knows too much about the Order,’ said Sherlock. ‘And no one else would take him anyway, he’s a terrible house-elf.’

John raised an eyebrow. ‘Right. You’d know all about good house-elves.’

Sherlock turned slightly pink. ‘Actually, I freed Melly.’

John stared at him. ‘Really?’

‘She gets paid a Galleon a week now. She often uses it to take a trip to Dover on the Knight Bus. She thinks it’s fun, and she likes the cliffs.’

John grinned and kissed Sherlock. ‘That’s very sweet.’

‘It is  _ not,’  _ Sherlock protested.

‘Of course it is. We’ll get you all signed up for S.P.E.W. You’ve still got some badges, right, Hermione?’

‘In my trunk,’ Hermione laughed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but skimmed a thumb over John’s cheek.

John made to grab another sandwich, but there was a pulse in the room, and his eyes were drawn back towards the curtain that was hiding the tapestry. He shook his head and put down the sandwich. ‘Not that hungry,’ he muttered.

He wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about the cleaning that afternoon, and ended up going to bed early, curling up in the fort.

Everything was silent when John woke that night, but for a faint whispering in his ear. Sherlock was fast asleep beside him, so John quietly crawled out of the fort and snuck out to the drawing room.

It was oddly still in the room, given all of the artefacts that had been desperate to leave the cabinets earlier in the day.

John stared at the opposite wall. The tapestry was calling to him. He stepped apprehensively closer and pulled back the curtain. The names all whispered to him, some louder than others. Bellatrix Black. Rodolphus Lestrange. John shuddered and turned away from, though not before the Longbottoms flashed through him. He looked at the other names. Narcissa Black. Lucius Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. The names all got louder and more sinister, and John thought he should leave, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch it.

Firstly all he felt was dust, then it was as though all the names screamed at him at once. None of them wanted him touching them, and it was like having Mrs Black screeching at him with the volume turned up by a thousand. He couldn’t move his hand, as though electricity were keeping him rooted to the spot. The names all cursed him, screamed awful things at him, and he felt the spectre of the Dark Lord moving behind all of them. All the lights in the tapestry had been blasted away, anyone that might have been a safe harbour for him. He was pulled further and further down the tapestry, his knees buckling. He saw a locket, then the face of a man that looked very familiar, like Sirius, only smaller and less handsome. Something about him seemed gentler, very sad, and very scared, but it was him that loosened the grip all the other names had on John, and finally allowed him to let go.

He fell to the floor with a thump, and found himself too weak to fight off the oppressive darkness of the house. It weighed him down, accumulating on his chest and in his head. He was pressed into the carpet, and after a while, it began to feel quite comfortable. It would be so easy to sleep here. Even the screams began to fade away. He closed his eyes, sinking further and further, until a hand touched his face and he snapped back up, gasping. 

'I'm here,' said Sherlock. 

John scrubbed his face, still breathing heavily. The curtain had been drawn back over the tapestry. 'Keep me away from that thing,' he groaned, burying his face in Sherlock’s chest. 

The sound returned to the room, many of the objects in the cabinet tapping on the glass, and the boggart in the writing desk rattled around furiously. 

Sherlock helped John to his feet and they went back to their room. 

'What d'you reckon that was about, then?' John asked, lying on the bed. 

'I think they were all very upset about Muggle-borns and blood traitors in their house, and decided to tell you directly.' 

'But that last one…' John trailed off, shaking his head. 'Probably nothing.' He slowly went back to sleep, Sherlock not far away. 

The cleaning went on for three more days, but John gave up trying after the second morning, moping around in his room while Sherlock sifted through the artefacts for anything useful or interesting. 

‘We need to get you out of this house,’ Sherlock murmured that evening, while John absent-mindedly ran his fingers through Sherlock’s curls.

John shrugged. ‘Me and Harry have our hearings tomorrow. I can wait until then.’

Sherlock looked up at John. ‘I want you to feel better.’

‘Is it hurting you too?’ John asked. 

‘Not like that.’

‘Oh.’

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand. ‘I don’t like to see you like this.’

‘I don’t particularly enjoy it either,’ John joked. 

‘We won’t be coming back here next year. I’ll find another place.’

‘I’m sure you will.’

‘You should sleep. They’ll want to ask you a lot of questions.’

‘Okay.’ John shuffled under the blankets, getting himself as comfortable as possible. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ Sherlock kissed his forehead. ‘You’re not nervous?’

John opened one eye. ‘Should I be?’

‘You’ll be by yourself. That’s the sort of thing that would make people nervous.’

‘Wait, you’re not coming with me?’

‘I’m not allowed at the Ministry without special permission.’

John frowned. ‘Well, you’ll still be in my head, right? It’ll be fine.’ 

Sherlock smiled. ‘Go to sleep.’

‘You were the one distracting me,’ John grumbled, closing his eyes again.

Sherlock watched him sleeping well into the night, and he thought he heard quiet footsteps outside the door after a few hours, but the closer he listened, the quieter the night was, and he decided that it must have been something in John’s dreams. He finally went to sleep, putting the hearing out of his mind, at least for a few hours.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to OtakuElf, VegasGranny and Addie for the comments!  
> See you again next time!


	6. The Ministry of Magic

John woke with a start early in the morning, waking Sherlock with him. Mrs Weasley had hung some clean clothes on the back of the door for him, a nice comfortable jumper and jeans.

Sherlock wordlessly rubbed his back. 

‘Breakfast?’ John whispered.

Sherlock shook his head. ‘Not hungry.’

‘Coming down with me?’

‘Later.’

John leaned over to kiss Sherlock’s cheek, and climbed out of bed, taking his time to get dressed. He quietly made his way to the kitchen, where he found Mr and Mrs Weasley, Sirius, Lupin and Tonks already sitting around the table.

‘Morning,’ Mrs Weasley said brightly.

‘Morning,’ John replied. 

Mr Weasley smiled at him. ‘Ready for today?’ he asked.

John nodded. ‘Yeah, I think it’ll be all right. How are we getting there?’

‘You and Harry are coming in with me,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘You’re waiting in my office until it’s time for your hearings. We’ll get the tube!’

John chuckled at his enthusiasm. ‘Yeah, it’ll be fun.’

Just then, Harry came into the room looking pale and nervous, in his best t-shirt and jeans. 

Mrs Weasley waved her wand over the stove as he closed the kitchen door. ‘What would you like for breakfast? Porridge? Muffins? Bacon and eggs? Toast?’

‘Er, just toast,’ Harry mumbled.

‘Porridge, if you don’t mind,’ said John, running a hand through his hair.

Tonks yawned widely. ‘Been up all night,’ she said at John’s curious look.

‘What were you saying about Scrimgeour?’ Lupin asked Tonks.

‘Oh… yeah… well, we need to be a bit more careful, he’s been asking Kingsley and me funny questions…’

Mrs Weasley placed a bowl of porridge in front of John, and a couple of slices of toast down for Harry.

‘...and I’ll have to tell Dumbledore I can’t do night duty tomorrow, I’m just t-t-too tired,’ Tonks finished, giving another huge yawn.

‘I’ll cover for you,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘I’m okay, I’ve got a report to finish anyway.’

John glanced up from his bowl of porridge, but dropped his spoon with a clatter at the sudden pain in his ribs. ‘Ow!’ he yelped, pressing a hand to his chest.

‘Are you all right?’ Mrs Weasley said in alarm.

John pulled his hand away, half expecting to see blood, but there was nothing there. ‘Yeah, I just-’ He cut himself off, hissing through his teeth. ‘It hurts- _ow!’_ He doubled over, a burning sensation spreading across all if his ribs and up to his shoulders. His vision shifted and it was suddenly dark. He was in a long corridor, and there was a loud hissing noise, but he couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

Mrs Weasley was wiping the blood from his nose with a cloth when he came around. 

‘Sorry,’ he said thickly, rubbing his head.

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘There you are, nice and clean.’

John pushed his bowl of porridge away, no longer hungry, and rested his eyes until he felt Sherlock sit beside him. ‘I don’t know where I was,’ he mumbled. 

‘All right.’ Sherlock was still in his pajamas.

‘Not the best start to the day,’ John said. ‘I didn’t want to be all dizzy for the hearing.’

‘It’s likely you would have been anyway,’ said Sherlock. ‘You’ve never been to the Ministry. I imagine something will crop up when you see it.’

‘What am I supposed to do about that?’ John said, alarmed.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you focus for the hearing.’

‘From here?’

‘From anywhere,’ Sherlock said confidently, looking John right in the eyes. ‘Don’t be afraid.’

‘You’ll only be speaking with Amelia Bones,’ Mr Weasley said to him and Harry encouragingly. ‘She’s the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.’

‘Amelia Bones is okay!’ Tonks said earnestly. ‘She’s fair, she’ll hear you out.’

‘The law’s on your side,’ Lupin said quietly. ‘Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations.’

‘I think we’ll go now,’ said Mr Weasley, checking his watch. ‘We’re a bit early, but we’ll be better off at the Ministry than hanging around here.’

‘Okay,’ Harry said, dropping his toast. He and John got to their feet.

‘Good luck,’ said Lupin.

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Tonks smiled.

Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and brushed it with a kiss, before he followed Harry and Mr Weasley up to the front door.

Mrs Black snorted in her sleep behind her curtain, making John jump. 

Mr Weasley unbolted the front door, and they stepped out into the cold, grey dawn.

John took a deep breath of the clear air, the heaviness in the house finally lifting from him, and he smiled, slightly giddy.

Mr Weasley and Harry set off at a brisk pace, and John took a moment to catch up, stumbling slightly behind them. 

He was free and light under the grey clouds, and was tempted to try his power, maybe look at Castiel, but a nudge in his mind from Sherlock reminded him to focus, and that he would need his strength when they arrived at the Ministry.

Mr Weasley excitedly watched the cars pass as they walked, unable to contain his enthusiasm, and beamed at the ticket machine when they arrived at the little underground station.

‘Simply fabulous,’ he whispered. ‘Wonderfully ingenious.’

‘They’re out of order,’ Harry said sullenly

‘Yes, but even so…’ Mr Weasley said fondly.

John bought them all tickets from a sleepy-looking guard, and they were soon on the tube, rattling towards central London. John sighed. The familiarity, and strangely normal feeling of sitting on the train soothed him. It had been a while since he’d gone on the underground, the last time had been just before third year, when he’d gone to King’s Cross by himself to catch the Hogwarts Express.

They finally arrived at their stop, and hurried out, almost getting swept away by the tide of morning commuters carrying briefcases.

John automatically picked up the pace, leading Harry and Mr Weasley out of the station, and matching step with the commuters around him. He was vaguely amused that they were now the ones struggling to keep up, neither of them having spent a lot of time in London. Mr Weasley told him which way to go, but John led the way until they were in a less crowded part of the city, then let Mr Weasley take over. 

They continued walking, the buildings getting smaller and less imposing the further out they went. They passed a library, some pubs, and an overflowing skip, then Mr Weasley stopped them in front of a red telephone box.

‘Here we are!’ said Mr Weasley, opening the door. ‘Might be a bit of a squeeze. After you.’

John and Harry went inside, and Mr Weasley reached over their heads to dial a number. ‘Let’s see… six… two… four… and another four… and another two…’

The dial whirred smoothly and a cool, female voice sounded inside the box.

‘Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.’

John tugged on the neck of his jumper, feeling very closed in.

‘Er… Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, here to escort Harry Potter and John Watson, who have both been asked to attend a disciplinary hearing…’

‘Thank you,’ said the voice. ‘Visitors, please take a badge and attach it to the front of your robes.’

There was a click and a rattled, and a couple of square metal badges slid out into the coin return tray. John pinned his one to his jumper, where everyone could see that it said _John Watson, Disciplinary Hearing._

 _‘_ Visitors to the Ministry are expected to submit to a search and present their wands for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.’

The floor of the telephone box shuddered and slowly sunk into the ground. Darkness closed over their heads, and they could see nothing at all; they could only hear a dull grinding noise as the telephone box made its way down through the earth. After about a minute, a chink of golden illuminated their feet, rising up until it hit them in the face.

‘The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,’ said the woman’s voice.

The door to the telephone box sprang open and the three of them stepped out of it.

They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly-polished, dark wood floor. The peacock-blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing. John thought that Sherlock would know what they meant.

The walls on each side were panelled with shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces, and on the right-hand side, short queues were forming, waiting to depart. John couldn’t help but be impressed, and he felt Sherlock’s amusement. 

It was going well so far, John thought. He felt the magic around him, buzzing at his fingertips, but it was nothing like the atmosphere at Grimmauld Place. Instead of pressing down on him, it flowed past him, like the currents in a river. If he concentrated, he thought he might be able to trace each of them to one person. Sherlock nudged him onwards again.

Half way down the corridor was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointed straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. The last three were looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of their wands, the point of the centaur’s arrow, the tip of the goblin’s hat and each of the house-elf’s ears.

‘Now, that’s a bit much,’ John snorted, bending to look at the smudged sign next to the fountain.

_ALL PROCEEDS FROM THE FOUNTAIN OF MAGICAL BRETHREN WILL BE GIVEN TO ST MUNGO’S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES_

‘At least it’s for a good cause,’ John smiled. 

He straightened up again, but when he blinked, everything fell silent. ‘What-?’ He looked around, everyone around him ignoring him with their heads down. Where the magical energy had been buzzing before, it was now more reminiscent of Grimmauld Place. The corridor was darker, gloomier. John bit his lip. He had slipped into a vision, that he knew, but of what and when? He looked back up at the fountain, but the golden statues were gone. In its place was now a gigantic statue of polished black stone. It depicted a witch and wizard sitting on ornately carved thrones, looking down at the Ministry workers toppling out of the fireplaces. Engraved in foot-high letters at the base of the statue were the words: MAGIC IS MIGHT. John swallowed, shaking his head. ‘I don’t like this,’ he whispered. He leaned closer to the statue, and was horrified to find that what he first thought were just intricate thrones, were actually carvings of people. Hundreds of twisted, horrible, naked people, pressed together to hold up the weight of the handsomely robed witch and the wizard. As John stared at them, he realised they were meant to be Muggles. 

‘ _Muggles in their proper place,’_ he heard someone say, in just as much disgust as he felt. It sounded like Hermione, but when he turned around, it was someone he didn’t recognise at all.

His stomach turned. ‘I don’t like this,’ he said again. He couldn’t feel Sherlock at all, but forced back his panic, squeezing the pressure point on his palm, until he had fallen to his knees with his eyes shut. He squeezed and squeezed, then finally the noise returned, and Mr Weasley’s hand was on his shoulder. 

‘I’m all right,’ he said shakily, as much to Sherlock as Mr Weasley, and got to his feet, still holding the pressure point. ‘Let’s just go.’ He threw one more fearful look back at the statue, but it was gold again, so he forced himself to calm down.

‘Over here,’ Mr Weasley said gently, guiding them out of the steady stream of Ministry wizards and over to a desk situated below a sign saying _Security._ A wizard in peacock blue robes looked up as they approached and put down his _Daily Prophet._

‘I’m escorting some visitors,’ said Mr Weasley, gesturing at John and Harry.

‘Step over there,’ said the wizard in a bored voice.

Harry and John moved closer to him, and he waved a long, thin golden rod over them, passing it up and down.

‘Wand,’ grunted the security wizard.

John passed his over first and the wizard dropped it on a strange brass instrument that was almost like a set of scales, only it had one dish instead of two. A narrow slip of parchment came out of a slot at the base of the instrument.

‘Eleven inches, unicorn-hair core, been in use four years. Is that correct?’

‘Er, yeah.’

‘I keep this,’ said the wizard, impaling the slip on a small brass spike. ‘You get this back,’ he added, shoving the wand back at John. 

He then did the same with Harry’s wand.

‘Hang on…’ the wizard said slowly, eyes darting from the silver badge on Harry’s chest up to his scar.

‘Thank you, Eric,’ Mr Weasley said firmly, steering them both away from the desk, and into a smaller hall that had at least twenty lifts behind wrought golden grilles.

They joined the crowd around one of them, and Mr Weasley spotted someone he knew.

‘What have you got there, Bob?’ asked Mr Weasley, looking at the large cardboard box the wizard was holding.

‘Not sure,’ said the wizard. ‘We thought it was a normal chicken until it started breathing fire. Looks like a serious breach of the Ban on Experimental Breeding to me.’

One of the lifts arrived and the three of them were jammed inside, along with several other Ministry workers. John tried his hardest to keep his hands to himself. He could feel the others’ lives pulling at him, calling out, inviting him to look. He started to feel dizzy. ‘In and out,’ John whispered, reminding himself to breathe. 

_I wish you’d come with me,_ John called to Sherlock, struggling to ground himself.

_I wasn’t allowed._

John could feel his regret and sympathy.

The lift ascended and John frowned. ‘Are we going the right way?’ he asked Mr Weasley.

‘Of course we are,’ he smiled.

‘It feels like we should be going somewhere else…’ 

‘Like where?’ Mr Weasley asked curiously.

‘I don’t know…’ John shuddered and pushed the feeling away. 

They kept going up and up, until the voice announced, ‘Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration services.’

‘This is us,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘My office is on the other side of the floor.’

Harry and John followed him down a corridor and around the corner, and through a pair of heavy oak doors. They emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles, which was buzzing with talk and laughter. 

John pressed a hand to his temple, a high-pitched whine coming from one corner, making his eyes water.

A lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle read: _Auror Headquarters._

The continued through the cubicles and bumped into Kingsley Shacklebolt.

‘Morning, Weasley,’ Kingsley said carelessly. ‘I’ve been wanting a word with you, have you got a second?’

‘Yes, if it really is a second, I’m in rather a hurry.’

Kingsley led them along the row, and into the cubicle at the very end, where many pictures of Sirius stared down at them.

‘Here,’ said Kingsley, handing Mr Weasley a sheaf of parchment. ‘I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles sighted in the last twelve months. We’ve received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle.’ Kingsley gave them an indulgent wink and added, in a whisper, ‘Give him the magazine, he might find it interesting.’ Then he said in normal tones, ‘And don’t take too long, Weasley, the delay on the firelegs report held our investigation up for a month.’

‘If you had read my report you would know that the term is _firearms._ I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for information on motorcycles; we’re extremely busy at the moment.’ Mr Weasley dropped his voice. ‘If you can get away before seven, Molly’s making meatballs.’

Mr Weasley beckoned to Harry and John to follow him out of the cubicle, but John wavered a moment. 

‘Is - is your Patronus a lynx?’ he blurted out to Kingsley.

They all gave John a confused look. 

‘Never mind. It’s not relevant.’ John rubbed his eyes and followed Mr Weasley out.

They went through another set of oak doors, through some winding corridors, right to a dead end with a tiny off, with _Misuse of Muggle Artefacts_ on the door.

Two desks had been crammed inside, and there was hardly any room for them to move past the overflowing filing cabinets.

‘You can sit there, I don’t think Perkins is here yet,’ said Mr Weasley, picking up a toaster from his desk that appeared to be hiccoughing.

Harry took the seat, and John perched on the edge of the desk, looking around at all the papers and files, and a purple paper plane circling over their head that said _Memo_ on the side.

Mr Weasley grabbed it, unfolded it and read it aloud. 

“‘Third regurgitating public toilet reported in Bethnal Green, kindly investigate immediately.” This is getting ridiculous…’

‘A regurgitating toilet?’ said Harry.

‘Anti-Muggle pranksters,’ said Mr Weasley, frowning. ‘We had two last week, one in Wimbledon, one in Elephant and Castle. Muggles are pulling the flush and instead of everything disappearing - well, you can imagine. The poor things keep calling those - _pumbles,_ I think they’re called - you know, the ones who mend pipes and things.’

‘Plumbers?’

‘Exactly, yes, but of course they’re flummoxed. I hope we can catch whoever’s doing it.’

‘Oh no, this is too trivial for Aurors, it’ll be the ordinary Magical Law Enforcement Patrol - ah, this is Perkins.’

A stooped, timid-looking wizard with fluffy white hair entered the room, panting.

‘Oh, Arthur!’ he said desperately. ‘Thank goodness, I didn’t know what to do for the best, whether to wait for you here or not. I’ve just sent an owl to your home, but you’ve obviously missed it - an urgent message came ten minutes ago-’

‘I know about the regurgitating toilet,’ said Mr Weasley.

‘No, no, it’s not about the toilet, they’ve changed the time and the venue of the hearings today - the Potter boy’s one starts at eight o’clock now and it’s down in old Courtroom Ten-’

‘Down in old - but they told me - Merlin’s beard!’ Mr Weasley checked his watch, let out a yelp, and leapt from his seat. ‘Quick! We should have been their five minutes ago!’

They sprinted back through the Auror Office and back to the lifts, where one was waiting to take them down. Mr Weasley hurried them in and furiously punched the button for the ninth floor. ‘Come on,’ he said impatiently, as the lift rattled downwards. ‘Those courtrooms haven’t been used in years. I can’t think why they’re doing it down there - unless - but no -’

‘The Atrium,’ the voice said in the lift, and a sallow-skinned wiard got in.

‘Morning, Arthur,’ he said as the lift continued its descent. ‘Don’t often see you down here.’

‘Urgent business, Bode,’ said Mr Weasley.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Bode, surveying them. ‘Of course.’

John caught his eye and suddenly couldn’t breathe, as though something was squeezing his neck. He grabbed at it, rasping, desperate for air.

Mr Weasley grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘Snap out of it, John,’ he said, shaking him slightly.

The voice said ‘Department of Mysteries’, and whatever had hold of John let go, leaving spluttering and gasping, but there was no time to catch his breath.

Mr Weasley hurried them out of the lift and they ran through a dark corridor, then down a staircase until they came to a corridor that resembled Snape’s dungeons at Hogwarts.

They passed several heavy doors, all with iron locks, and all with numbers on.

‘Courtroom… _Ten…_ yes, here we are,’ Mr Weasley puffed, clutching a stitch in his chest. ‘Go in then, get in there,’ he said to Harry. 

‘Aren’t you coming with-’

‘Oh no, I’m not allowed. Good luck!’ He and John both slumped against the wall, watching Harry turn the iron handle, and step inside the courtroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to VegasGranny and hhhelcat for the comments! See you again soon!


	7. The Hearing

John slid down onto the stone floor, breathing heavily, waiting for Harry’s hearing to run its course. Mr Weasley paced nervously. Neither of them spoke. After a moment, Dumbledore came flying down the corridor, and into the courtroom, leaving a rather old woman standing outside with them. 

She glanced at them and nodded, then stared at the door, clutching her bag tightly and waiting. Eventually, she was called inside as well. 

‘Witness,’ Mr Weasley muttered at John’s questioning look.

The minutes crawled by, and John didn’t particularly feel like getting up, even though his breathing had returned to normal, so he remained sitting on the floor.

Not long later, the old woman came back out of the courtroom.

‘How’s it going?’ John asked her, looking up.

‘Dumbledore will sort it all out,’ she said, though her voice shook. She shuffled away, leaving John and Mr Weasley alone again.

It dragged on and on, until the doors opened. 

Dumbledore hurried off, but Harry came over to them.

‘Cleared of all charges,’ Harry told them, sounding immensely relieved. 

Mr Weasley peeked into the courtroom behind him. ‘Blimey, Harry, they’ve not tried you in front of the entire Wizengamot?’ he said.

‘Er, I think they did,’ Harry said.

‘Blimey,’ Mr Weasley said again, cleaning his glasses on his shirt. 

John rubbed his head, Sherlock’s anger crashing through it. ‘Shh,’ he muttered, anxiously staring at the door behind Harry. 

Mycroft’s head poked around the door. ‘Come on, John, let’s get this over with.’

John took a deep breath, smoothed out the creases in his jumper and walked inside. He stifled a gasp. He’d been here before, in Dumbledore’s Penseive. The visions bubbled around him, but Sherlock helped him push them away.

The walls were dimly lit by torches, empty benches rose on either side of him, but the benches ahead were filled with many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as soon as the heavy door swung closed, an ominous silence fell.

A cold male voice rang out across the courtroom.

‘Take your seat.’

John dropped his gaze to the chair in the centre of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains. He’d seen those very same chains spring to life and bind whoever sat in the chair. Even now, he saw a figure sitting in it, flashing between all the people he’d seen sit there before. He stared at it, frozen to the spot, until he felt Mycroft’s hand on his shoulder and the figure disappeared. 

‘Sorry,’ he muttered. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked across the stone floor. When he sat gingerly on the edge of the chair the chains clinked threateningly, but did not bind him. Already feeling sick and dizzy, John looked up at the people seated at the bench above.

There were about fifty of them, all wearing plum-coloured robes with an elaborately worked silver ‘W’ on the left side of the chest, all of them staring down their noses at him. 

In the very middle of the row sat Cornelius Fudge, to his left a square-jawed witch wearing a monocle, and on his right was another witch, but she was sitting so far back on her bench that her face was in shadow.

Sherlock’s anger rose again, and John closed his eyes until it died back down.

‘The accused being present, let us begin. Are you ready?’ Fudge called down the row.

‘Yes, sir,’ said an eager voice, and John realised with a jolt that it was Percy Weasley. He was sitting right at the end of the row, eyes fixed on the parchment in front of him, a quill poised in his hand.

‘Disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of August,’ said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Mycroft sighed audibly beside John., ‘into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Undrage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by John Hamish Watson, resident at number twenty-two, Kings Road, Chelmsford, Essex.

‘Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley.’

‘Witness for the defence, Mycroft Holmes, Head of the Department of Mysteries,’ said Mycroft. ‘Must we go through this again, Minister? Surely we all have more important things to be doing.’

‘Due process must be followed,’ Fudge said shortly.

‘Due process?’ said Mycroft. ‘Since when was dragging a fifteen year-old boy before the entire Wizengamot, for something so trivial as a bit of underage magic, due process?’

‘The boy must face consequences for his actions,’ a high, girlish voice said. It came from the woman whose face was still hidden in shadow, and everything flashed pink for a moment when John heard it.

Mycroft sighed again. ‘Yes, of course, Madam Undersecretary, but I highly doubt that this is not something Madam Bones could have handled herself. We all trust her judgement, do we not?’

‘We are already past questioning whether or not he should be here,’ Fudge interrupted loudly. ‘We are all here now, so let’s get on with it… So… charges, yes…’ He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read out, ‘The charges against the accused are as follows:

‘That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, produce the Locking Spell, the Silencing Charm, the Impediment Jinx, and the Shield Charm, on the night of the seventeenth of July, in a Muggle inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, which constitutes several offences under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy.

‘You are John Hamish Watson, of number twenty-two, Kings Road, Chelmsford, Essex?’ Fudge said, glaring at him over the top of his parchment.

‘Yes,’ said John.

‘You received an official notice from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that it is illegal to use magic away from the school grounds, did you not?’

‘Yes.’

‘And yet you produced these spells on the night of the seventeenth of July?’ said Fudge. 

‘Yes, but-’

‘Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?’

‘Yes, but-’

‘Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?’

‘Yes, but-’

‘Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?’

‘My mum, you mean? Because I’m fairly sure she already knows I’m a wizard.’

‘Answer the question, Mr Watson.’

‘Well yes, but-’

The witch with the monocle, Madam Bones, cut across him in a booming voice. 

‘These spells all have defensive applications. What were you using them for?’

‘There were Death Eaters in my house. They wanted to kidnap me.’

There was a low murmur around the room.

‘Death Eaters?’ said Madam Bones. ‘Why would they want to kidnap you?’

Fudge gave an unpleasant smirk. ‘The boy believes himself a Seer,’ he said. ‘I thought we might be hearing something like this.’

‘I _am_ one,’ John insisted angrily.

‘A Seer?’ Madam Bones said with interest.

‘ _Yes!_ I’m a Seer, they wanted to use my power, so they attacked me when they knew there weren’t any other wizards around to help me.’

‘We’ve been through this, Minister,’ said Mycroft. ‘I saw the Death Eaters myself, there is no need for this drawn-out trial.’

‘You witnessed them?’ Madam Bones asked, leaning forward intently. ‘How many of them?’

‘Three,’ said Mycroft. ‘They Disapparated before I could apprehend them.

‘How did you know to go there?’

‘As Mr Watson has already stated, he is a Seer, therefore was forewarned of their arrival. Though he did not have time to leave the building, he was able to alert my brother Sherlock, and myself. Upon arrival, it was clear that Mr Watson had been put under the Imperius Curse, which was then broken when the Death Eaters escaped.’

‘Why did you not apprehend them, Mr Holmes?’ Fudge demanded.

‘I was ensuring Mr Watson and his mother’s safety, forgive me, Minister, but I assumed that would be the priority.’

‘But how are we to be certain that they were, in fact, Death Eaters?’ Fudge said, his face beginning to turn red. ‘They could have been anyone.’

‘They were wearing those masks,’ said John. ‘Those white ones, and they…’ He stopped himself from describing how they felt, but Madam Bones caught it anyway. 

‘They what?’ she asked. 

John hesitated. ‘I could feel their connection to Vo- You-Know-Who… because I’m a Seer…’

‘Unfortunately, we are unable to substantiate _feelings,’_ Fudge said scornfully. ‘Why would there even be Death Eaters about? If there are any left, they’ve all been in hiding for years.’

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Now, the Wizengamot will be aware of the Death Eater incursion of the Quidditch World Cup only a year ago.’

‘There is no need to remind us, Mr Holmes-’

‘It appears there is a need, Minister,’ Mycroft snapped. ‘If you would deny their existence, then I would continue to remind you. And I will remind you all again, that I saw these Death Eaters myself, or do you perhaps believe me a liar before the court?’

There was an uncomfortable shifting along the benches, but no one responded.

‘I grow tired of this Minister,’ Mycroft continued, then raised his voice so it filled the courtroom. ‘As you all know by now, Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic might be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of wizard himself, or any other witches, wizards or Muggles present at the time-’

‘We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!’ snarled Fudge.

‘Of course you are. We are all in agreement that Mr Watson’s use of these spells falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances the clause describes?’

‘Yes, but-’

‘Then let us not carry this on any further, and I assure you, we shall not make the holding of a full criminal trial for something so trivial as underage magic a regular occurance, am I quite clear?’

‘You cannot-’

‘I can. We have presented our defense and answered all of your questions, and I am quite certain that the Wizengamot has better things to do than interrogate teenagers. Madam Bones, if you would?’

Madam Bones frowned, and turned to the rest of the Wizengamot, where they all began whispering.

John’s heart hammered in his chest, but it wasn’t the verdict he was worried about. His vision flickered violently pink and back again, and he was worried he might pass out in front of the whole court.

The Wizengamot all took their seats again, but Madam Bones remained standing. 

‘Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?’ she said in her booming voice.

John’s leg bounced anxiously, but Mycroft stood quite still and calm.

All but Fudge’s hand and the witch’s on his right went into the air.

‘And those in favour of conviction?’

There were only two.

‘Very well, well,’ said Fudge, his voice distorted by barely suppressed rage. ‘Cleared of all charges.’

‘Excellent,’ said Mycroft. ‘I trust we won’t be forced through this mockery again, Minister? Very good.’ Mycroft turned on his heel, closely followed by John, who was more than happy to leave the chains behind, and swept from the dungeon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to VegasGranny, axl and hhhelcat for the comments!  
> See you again soon!


	8. The Woes of Mrs Weasley

John hurried out and nearly walked straight into Mr Weasley. ‘Cleared,’ he said at Mr Weasley and Harry’s questioning looks.

Mycroft bent to whisper something in Mr Weasley’s ear, then walked away.

‘Thanks for your help,’ John called after him, and got a wave of a hand in response. 

Mr Weasley beamed at him. ‘Excellent news!’ he said. ‘Fantastic!’

Harry grinned at him, looking more relaxed than he had done all summer.

The courtroom door opened again, and the Wizengamot began to file out. John watched them in silence, all of them refusing to look at him. Some of them seemed scared to look him in the eye, as though he could read everything about them just from a look. John shivered. Maybe one day he would be able to do that, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

They waited for the last of the Wizengamot to leave, then Mr Weasley beckoned to John and Harry. ‘I’m going to take you straight back so you can tell the others the good news,’ said Mr Weasley, climbing up the steps to Level Nine. ‘I’ll drop you off on the way to that toilet in Bethnal Green…’

‘So, what will you have to do about the toilet?’ Harry asked, still grinning, suddenly finding it very amusing.

‘Oh, it’s a simple enough anti-jinx, but it’s not so much about repairing the damage, it’s-’

Mr Weasley broke off mid-sentence. They had reached the ninth-floor corridor and Fudge was standing a few feet away, talking quietly with Lucius Malfoy.

‘Well, well, well… Underage magic,’ said Malfoy fixing his cold, grey eyes on them.

John bit his lip. The last time he had heard Lucius Malfoy’s voice was when he was watching Voldemort’s return, in the graveyard. Harry too clenched his fists.

‘The Minister was just telling me about your lucky escape,’ Malfoy drawled. ‘Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes…  _ snakelike,  _ in fact.’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘I’m good at escaping.’

John bent slightly, the pain his chest returning. He clutched at it, and leaned against the wall. He breathed deeply, waiting for it to subside, but it didn’t. ‘Can we go?’ he said, voice strained.

‘What are  _ you  _ doing here anyway?’ Harry asked, talking over John.

‘I don’t think private matters between myself and the Minister are any concern of yours, Potter,’ said Malfoy. ‘Really, just because you’re Dumbledore’s favourite, you must not expect the same indulgence from the rest of us… shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?’

‘Certainly,’ said Fudge. ‘This way, Lucius.’

They strode off together, but John paid them no heed, the fire spreading across his ribs again. The hallway went dark and hissing filled his ears. He shook his head and tried to see through the darkness, but the pain was too much. He squeezed his palm, forcing the vision to ease off. He came around, shaking and sweating, but still upright.

Mr Weasley patted his back sympathetically, and led them back to the lift.

The Atrium was deserted when they arrived back there, and stepped out of the lift. Just as they were walking back past the fountain, John was tripped up by yet another vision of the fountain breaking into pieces. He yanked himself away, getting irritated. He put his hands over his ears.  _ I just want to go. Leave me alone,  _ he thought.

Mr Weasley took them back to the house the same way they’d come, but John stopped before he walked through the door. He knew the moment he went in, the house would press down on him again. He shuddered at the thought.

‘Inside then,’ said Mr Weasley. 

John bit his lip and pushed himself through the door.

Sherlock was waiting for him on the other side and held him tightly, keeping him steady through the house’s onslaught. Once he’d got a hold of himself, John started up the stairs, dragging his feet. 

‘You don’t want something to eat?’ Sherlock murmured.

John shook his head, feeling quite sick, but determined to get to bed. As soon as he reached their room, he felt a bit better, but immensely more tired, so he flopped down on his bed. Sherlock joined him and John grabbed his hand, glad to be touching him again.

‘Hold on,’ he frowned, sitting up again. ‘Those beds weren’t here before.’ 

Two more beds had been shoved into the room, opposite John and Sherlock’s.

‘Well noticed,’ Sherlock smirked. 

‘Who’re they for?’

‘I don’t know. I tried to listen in on them earlier, but they charmed the door. I couldn’t even get an Extendable Ear under.’

‘That’s a shame.’ John briefly considered getting out his crystal ball, but his pillow called to him, so he let sleep take him.

A few days later, John was still sitting in his room, avoiding scrubbing out some mouldy cabinets on the third floor, when the door banged open, causing Mrs Black to start screeching.

‘Oops,’ Dean cringed, dropping his trunk by the bed furthest from the door.

Sam came in behind him and closed the door gingerly. ‘Oh hey, John,’ he smiled when he saw John.

‘What are you two doing here?’ John asked, surprised. 

‘You don’t know?’ asked Sam.

John shook his head. ‘This house dulls my power somehow. Probably from being inhabited by horrible blood purists.’

‘Wow, I didn’t know houses could do that. Is it like a poltergeist? Or is it more like the house itself?’ Sam said with great interest.

‘It’s more like… all the negative energy from the people that lived here is bleeding through the… walls, I suppose?’ John rubbed his head. ‘It’s really difficult to explain.’

‘That’s pretty cool.’

John smiled. Sam’s enthusiasm always made him feel better. 

Dean sat down on his bed. ‘Is everybody here?’

‘Hang on.’ John looked up at the ceiling, briefly contacting Sherlock. ‘Here they come.’

The door opened again, and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Sherlock all came into the room, hugging Sam and Dean as they did, except Sherlock who came to sit next to John.

‘It’s so good to see you!’ Hermione exclaimed. ‘But why are you here? John said he saw you safe at home.’

‘We  _ were  _ safe at home,’ Dean grumbled, flopping down on his back. 

‘It’s no big deal,’ Sam said. ‘Our dad got some threats from some Demons, so he asked Dumbledore to put us somewhere safe.’

‘Like I said, we  _ were  _ somewhere safe. So what if Demons made threats? When don’t they? Ugh.’ Dean scrubbed his face with his hands, then sat up again. 'I got your owl by the way, thought I'd just talk to you in person, what do you mean no one's heard from Cas?' 

'He hasn't responded to our owls, or sent us any. What about you, have you heard from him?' John asked. 

Dean frowned. 'Nothing. He was supposed to come and visit, but he never showed up. I thought he was just mad at me, or something. Do you think something's up?' 

John shrugged. 'I don't know. He's at home, so how much trouble could he be in?' 

Dean's eyebrow twitched. 'He's at home? Are you sure? He's not in… Hogsmeade or anything?' 

'No, he's definitely in Wales… Why would he be in Hogsmeade?'

Dean looked around furtively. 'He made me promise not to tell… He was supposed to move there with Gabriel.' 

'Oh,' John said in surprise, 'that's weird. I can't really see him, he's so far away, but he hasn't moved far from his house, I don't think.' 

'Do you think you can try again?' Dean asked. 'I'm real worried about him.' 

'Yeah, me too.' John groped under the bed for his crystal ball. He blushed self-consciously under the eyes of everyone in the room. He rolled his shoulders and hunched over the ball, staring into the mist. 

Nothing happened at first, just the fog swirling lazily. Then it started to twist lethargically. John blinked and rubbed his eyes. It was difficult to concentrate. 

‘What do you see?’ Dean asked anxiously. 

John shook his head. ‘Nothing much,’ he said. ‘This looks like wings. What do you think that means?’

‘I thought you were the expert?’ Ron snorted. 

‘No, he is,’ John said, gesturing at Sherlock. ‘Or, he’s supposed to be anyway.’ 

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

‘He’s just so hard to focus on him.’

‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’ Hermione asked.

‘Actually…’ Sam said thoughtfully. ‘I think there is. Everybody sit on the floor.’

John glanced at Sherlock, then put the crystal ball away and climbed off the bed, sitting on the floor with everyone else.

‘Okay, so John’s powers work best with skin contact, right?’ said Sam. ‘So if we all sit in a circle and hold hands-’

‘Come on, Sam,’ Dean scoffed. 

‘Just hear me out! This is how Pamela used to do it too.’

Dean clamped his mouth shut.

‘I think if we all think about Cas, we can help boost John, what do you think?’

John shrugged. ‘Can’t hurt to try.’

‘Awesome, so the people with the strongest connection to Cas should sit closest to John - so Dean goes here,’ Sam said, sitting Dean directly beside John.

Dean shot him a glare, but blushed as he took John’s hand.

Sam arranged everyone around the circle, then sat down himself. ‘Okay, now everyone think about Cas as hard as you can.’

Everyone closed their eyes, thinking hard.

John could feel all of Dean’s concern, and the way his heart pulled whenever he thought of Castiel. John bit back a smile, and everyone else’s thoughts of Cas flooded through him.

‘Okay, Cas, show me what you’re up to,’ John whispered, turning towards his bright glow. 

Sam’s idea appeared to be working, and it was a lot easier to push himself towards Cas, but the glowing didn’t ease as he got closer. It grew brighter and sharper in his eyes, and they began to water, but John wasn’t ready to give up, bolstered as he was. He took a moment, shook his head, and squeezed Dean and Sherlock’s hands harder. He couldn’t see much other than bright, white light now, but he was so close.

_ John,  _ Sherlock’s voice whispered.

_ Not yet.  _ John squeezed so hard he could feel Dean’s discomfort.  _ I’m so close.  _

Cas’s glow pulsed, burning John’s eyes, and he was suddenly gripped by an all-encompassing terror. Cas’s eyes blazed blue, and flared, blinding John. 

John let go of Dean and Sherlock, yelling, ‘I can’t see!’ Panic swelled in his chest. ‘Oh my God, I can’t see!’ He rubbed his eyes, but it didn’t help, and he grabbed the front of Sherlock’s shirt.

Someone shouted for Mrs Weasley.

‘John, calm down!’ Sherlock held him by the shoulders. ‘You’re all right, just calm down.’

He struggled to control his panicked sobbing, his vision completely white.

‘You’re still connected to Castiel, you need to stop.’ Sherlock squeezed John’s palm for him, pulling him away from Cas. ‘Breathe, John.’

Tears streamed down John’s face, but the pressing on his palm helped ground him. There were raised voices all around him, and he thought he heard Mrs Black again.

‘Ignore them,’ said Sherlock. ‘Focus on your breathing, in and out.’ Sherlock slowly and carefully held John away, blocking out everything else for him, until it was just John and Sherlock in his mind. Finally his breathing slowed, and the whiteness began to dissipate.

John blinked a few times, bright spots still floating in his field of vision, but he could see again. He heaved a great sigh of relief, leaning heavily against Sherlock. He couldn’t tell which one of them was shaking harder. 

Mrs Weasley was there, her wand drawn. 

‘It’s all right,’ Sherlock murmured. ‘He’s going to be all right.’

‘I need some water,’ John said weakly. Mrs Weasley obliged, conjuring a goblet full of water for him.

John gulped it down, the cool water calming his nerves. He sighed again when he was finished, and noticed Dean’s expression. 

‘Did- did you see anything?’ Dean asked anxiously. 

‘No, but…’

‘But what.’

John hesitated. ‘He was scared. He’s really frightened of something.’

‘Of what?’

‘I don’t know, I couldn’t see…’ John shuddered and closed his eyes again.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. ‘Then we have to go get him,’ he said, standing up.

Mrs Weasley put her hands on his shoulder. ‘I know you’re worried, but you can’t leave here. It’s not safe.’

‘Do I look like I care?’ he said. ‘I’ve been in plenty of danger before.’ He tried to move past her, but she blocked his way. ‘Can’t any of you go and get him, then?’ 

‘I’ll ask Dumbledore,’ she said. ‘But we might not have anyone to spare.’

‘Fine, then I’m going.’

‘Where does he live?’ Mrs Weasley said. 

Dean shrugged. ‘I don’t know, on a mountain somewhere.’

‘There’s only one mountain in Wales,’ said Hermione, standing up as well. ‘He’s probably on Snowden somewhere.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t all go off tramping around a mountain,’ Mrs Weasley snapped. ‘What will you do if there are protective spells or concealments around his house? None of you are of age yet, and we have had enough hearings for underage magic already.’

‘We have to do  _ something!’  _ Dean cried. 

‘I will ask Dumbledore,’ Mrs Weasley said firmly. ‘You are not to leave this house, do you understand?’

Dean’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded. 

‘Good. Dinner will be ready soon.’

Mrs Weasley left, and Dean sat back down again.

‘What could he be that scared of?’ Hermione said, once Mrs Weasley was gone.

‘I don’t know. Demons maybe. His sister’s leading them now.’

‘Do you think she’s come back?’ said Sam. ‘Last Dad heard she was hanging around in Illinois somewhere.’

‘It’s always possible.’

John dragged himself back onto his bed to lie down. 

‘Tell us about them,’ Harry said after a moment’s silence. ‘Tell us about the Demons.’

Dean didn’t speak at first, he just stared down at the ground. ‘They were wizards once,’ he said eventually. ‘A long time ago. They gave themselves up to evil, so they could raise Lucifer from Hell.’

‘Why would they want to do that?’ Hermione gasped.

‘They think humanity is a stain on the Earth. They want to destroy everything…’ Dean looked away and Sam took over. 

‘They were never much of a threat. Their numbers were so low, but then Azazel started stealing kids and corrupting them, to boost their army. That’s how our mom died. He burned down our house trying to kidnap us.’

‘They still look human though,’ said Dean. ‘They can pretend… Sometimes their eyes appear black, but the only real way to tell is to try to force them to conjure a Patronus. They can’t do it, they’re too evil. It just backfires. Sometimes it kills them.’

‘Some people think they’re what turn into Dementors, but that was never proved,’ Sam said.

‘And Lucy is in charge of them now? No wonder Cas is scared,’ Hermione shivered.

‘Great, so now we have Demons as well as Death Eaters to deal with,’ Ron groaned. 

‘I wouldn’t worry,’ Dean said, plastering an unconcerned smile on his face. ‘I doubt they know or care that any of you guys exist.’

‘Do you think Cas is okay?’ Hermione said quietly.

‘We’ll ask him when we see him,’ John mumbled, his voice muffled by his pillow.

Dean perked up. ‘He’s coming back to school?’

‘Mhmm.’

‘That’s good,’ Dean nodded. He rolled his shoulders and winced.

‘What’s wrong?’ Hermione asked.

‘It’s nothing,’ said Dean. ‘It’s just the scars on my back are a little tight. That’s what I get for being so buff, I guess.’

‘Whatever you say, Dean,’ Sam laughed, throwing a pillow at him.

‘What the hell is this place anyway?’ Dean asked, lobbing the pillow back at Sam.

‘Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,’ Hermione told him. ‘A secret society that Dumbledore runs. They’re trying to find out what You-Know-Who’s up to.’

‘Nice. Love a good secret society. Would have picked a different house though, this one’s kinda gross.’

‘Trust me, it was a lot worse a few weeks ago. You’re lucky Mrs Weasley isn’t making you help us clear out the rooms upstairs.’

John listened to Hermione explain to Dean what had been going on, and the sound of their voices lulled him to sleep. 

By the end of the holidays, everyone was more than ready to go back to Hogwarts. Dean had thrown himself aggressively into cleaning and helping Mrs Weasley cook, just to have something to distract himself with, but their Hogwarts letters didn’t arrive until the very last day.

‘About time,’ Fred said, tearing his open at the kitchen table. ‘Thought they’d forgotten.’

‘Oh lovely, I’ll pop over to Diagon Alley this afternoon then,’ Mrs Weasley smiled

‘What’s wrong, Ron?’ Harry asked, spotting the slack look on Ron’s face as he stared at his letter.

Ron shook his head, then tipped up the envelope. There was a metallic clink, and a badge dropped out onto the table.

‘No way!’ George exclaimed. ‘That is not what I think it is!’

Ron picked up the scarlet and gold badge.

‘Awesome,’ Dean grinned. 

‘There has to be some sort of mistake,’ said Fred. ‘No one in their right mind would make Ron a Prefect.’

Just then, Hermione burst into the room and shrieked as she saw the badge. ‘Me too!’ she said, waving her letter and badge around.

Mrs Weasley fawned over the both of them. ‘I’d best get going. You’d all better pack your things, there won’t be time in the morning.’ She hurried out of the house and the rest of them went back to their rooms to pack.

Dean and Sam had never really unpacked, so they occupied themselves by playing an increasingly precarious game of catch while they waited for everyone else to finish.

Mrs Weaslet returned at six o’clock that evening and came upstairs to give everyone their books. ‘I want all of you downstairs,’ she said, giving Ron a pat on the cheek.

Down in the basement Mrs Weasley had hung a scarlet banner over the heavily laden dinner table, which read: 

CONGRATULATIONS

RON AND HERMIONE

NEW PREFECTS

‘I thought we’d have a little party,’ Mrs Weasley beamed. 

Sirius, Lupin, Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there and Mad-Eye Moody stumped in shortly after the bottles of Butterbeer were opened.

John grabbed himself a sandwich, and found himself face to face with Kingsley, who gave him an indulgent wink. 

‘I’ve been checking in on your mother,’ he said, and John groaned loudly.

‘I don’t want to know.’

‘She’s absolutely fine. No further Death Eater activity in the area, and she makes a fantastic brownie.’

‘I am not having this conversation.’

Kingsley laughed, and John took an overly large gulp of his Butterbeer, almost choking on it.

Sherlock sniggered, and John smacked him on the arm. 

Sam, who had only just met Tonks, was questioning her excitedly, determined to find out more about Metamorphmagi. 

‘How is this one not in Ravenclaw?’ she said. ‘Not that I’m complaining, we could use more good people in Hufflepuff.’

Dean wandered around the table, until he found some pastries that he liked the look of. He bent down to take one, but his scars caught again, forcing him back. He hissed through his teeth and rubbed his shoulder, the closest he could reach.

‘Hello, Dean. Are you all right?’ said Lupin, watching him sympathetically.

Dean grimaced. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. They’re just pulling a little, that’s all.’

‘I could take a look, if you like. I’m quite practiced at easing these sorts of things by now.’ Guilt was clear in Lupin’s eyes, as it was him in werewolf form that had given Dean the claw marks on his back.

‘Nah, it’s all right. I’ll wait ‘til we’re back at Hogwarts and let Cas look at them. He needs the practice.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, he’s going to be a Healer.’ Dean smiled, a warm feeling spreading through him that wasn’t entirely from the Butterbeer. 

‘Well, if you’re sure…’

‘Yeah, don’t worry about it. I can make it one more day.’

Dean didn’t stay at the party for much longer after that. He ate a few sandwiches, but didn’t feel much like speaking to anyone, so eventually made his way back upstairs, trying not to worry about Castiel. Just as he was passing the drawing room, however, he heard sobs coming from inside.

He pushed open the door and found Mrs Weasley inside, and the body of Ron in front of her. Dean blinked. It  _ couldn’t  _ be, he’d just seen Ron downstairs. 

‘ _ R-riddikulus!’  _ Mrs Weasley sobbed, pointing her wand at Ron’s body. There was a  _ crack  _ and suddenly it was Bill’s body instead of Ron’s. ‘ _ Riddikulus!’  _ Mrs Weasley tried again, but this time it turned into Mr Weasley. She pointed her wand once again, but it just turned into Fred and George, then Percy, then Ginny, and Mrs Weasley got more and more distraught.

Dean ran into the room and knelt down in front of her. ‘It’s all right, Mrs Weasley,’ he said. ‘It’s just a Boggart.’

She shouted,  _ ‘Riddikulus!’ _ again, but this time her sobbing stopped in surprise.

Dean turned around and saw that the Boggart had focused on him this time, and was showing him Sam, lifeless and empty-eyed. Dean swallowed. He couldn’t get rid of it himself, he was still underage. ‘Come on, Mrs Weasley, you can do it,’ he said in his best encouraging voice.

Mrs Weasley raised her wand one last time. ‘ _ Riddikulus!’  _ The Boggart vanished in a puff of smoke. She dissolved into shuddering sobs again. ‘I’m j-just so worried about everyone,’ she stammered. 

‘I know,’ Dean said gently. ‘I get it. It’s okay.’

Just then, Mr Weasley, Lupin, and Mad-Eye ran into the room, and Dean left them to comfort her.

He quietly changed into his pajamas and got into bed. The curtains were open just a sliver, letting a thin beam of moonlight stream through. He could hear the murmuring of voices down the hall, wondering how he’d managed to get himself caught between two wars. How could he keep Sam safe? He rolled over in bed, pulling the pillow over his head. He’d see Cas tomorrow, he told himself, and put everything else out of his mind. They would figure it all out once they were back at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to OtakuElf, VegasGranny and hhhellcat for the comments! See you again soon!


	9. Luna Lovegood

Dean woke up early in the morning, quickly followed by Sam who was eager as ever to get back to school. They were both downstairs, trunks ready to go, eating breakfast by the time everyone else began to awaken, and listening in amusement as Mrs Weasley shouted at everyone to get up, waking Mrs Black in the process.

Fred and George bewitched their trunks to fly down the stairs, but knocking Ginny down at the same time. Harry hastily put Hedwig into her cage, and Hermione struggled to shove a squirming Crookshanks into his basket.

Nobody bothered to close the curtains over Mrs Black, despite her screaming. The noise in the hall was bound to rouse her again anyway.

Once they were done with their breakfast, Sam and Dean waited by the front door, watching all the rushing around. Sirius transformed himself into a huge black dog right at the last minute to accompany them to King’s Cross, so Mrs Weasley wouldn’t have time to argue.

‘Leave your luggage,’ she shouted over everyone. ‘Alastor will sort it out, now let’s go!’

At last, they left the house, following Mrs Weasley.

John took a deep breath of the fresh air. ‘I’m never going back in that house,’ he muttered to Sherlock. 

‘As you wish,’ Sherlock chuckled.

They met up with Tonks a few streets away, disguised as an old woman wearing a pork-pie hat. Dean followed close behind, determined to get to King’s Cross as quickly as possible; the only thing slowing him down was not knowing the way.

It took them twenty minutes to reach the station, but they had to wait for a little longer, until Mad-Eye appeared, pushing their luggage on a trolley.

They quickly unloaded their trunks, and made their way to the barrier between the platforms.

Dean went first, impatiently waiting for the right moment to slip through to platform nine and three-quarters. He stepped through, into the crowd of students and their parents milling around on the platform. He didn’t wait for Sam, they would just catch up on the train, he told himself, and pushed through the crowds. Craning his neck, and standing on his toes, Dean looked around for Cas. ‘He’s gotta be here somewhere,’ he muttered. Then, he saw a slight gap in the crowd, then Cas’s messy hair, and his coat hanging from his shoulders. Dean grinned and hurried over.

‘Hey, Cas!’ he shouted. ‘Where’ve you been, man? We were all worried about you.’

Cas turned around, and Dean gasped. Whatever weight he’d gained over the last year had completely melted away. Everything about him was sharp and uncomfortable. His cheekbones stuck out, he was pale and sickly looking, and he stared at Dean with dead eyes, sunken into deep purple shadows. There was a blue and bronze badge pinned to the front of his baggy robes, but that wasn’t what caught Dean’s eye. As Cas turned, his collar shifted to reveal bruises on his neck that were suspiciously finger shaped.

‘Oh God,  _ Cas,’  _ Dean breathed. ‘What the hell is  _ that?’  _ He reached out a hand, but Cas stepped backwards.

Cas raised his wand and healed the bruises, and before Dean could stop him, he disappeared into the crowd. 

‘Wait!’ Dean shouted. He tried to follow, but there were too many people in the way, and he lost sight of Cas.

Then Sam pushed his way through and grabbed Dean’s arm. ‘Did you find him?’

‘Yeah, but…’ Dean trailed off, momentarily shocked out of words. ‘That’s it, we’re going straight to Dumbledore the  _ second  _ we get back to Hogwarts. He should have done something about this weeks ago.’

‘About what?’

Dean didn’t answer, too angry to put it into words. He climbed onto the Hogwarts Express. Sam found a carriage full of his own friends, and Dean stamped onwards down the train, seething until he sat down in the very last one. He didn’t even notice anyone else was in it until Sherlock and John joined them. 

‘Oh hello, Luna,’ John said with a friendly smile.

Dean turned and saw a girl with waist-length, dirty blonde hair sitting by the window.

‘Hello,’ she said vaguely, reading her copy of  _ The Quibbler  _ upside down.

John and Sherlock sat opposite her, curling up in the corner together. John himself looked quite nauseous, but in good spirits. They were soon joined by Harry, Ginny and Neville.

‘Where are Ron and Hermione?’ Dean asked. 

Harry shrugged. ‘The prefect’s carriage. They said they have to get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl.’

‘Right,’ Dean nodded. ‘That’s where Cas’ll be then.’

Suddenly John grimaced and tensed, as though he’d been electrocuted, then held his head, eyes unfocused. ‘He - he doesn’t look good,’ he said queasily. ‘Sherlock, gimme the…’

Sherlock passed John his crystal ball. 

‘Should you be doing that?’ Dean asked.

John squinted. ‘Everything about Cas is really… is intense the word? But I just saw him… maybe I can keep going.’ John stared intently at it, one of his eyebrows twitching.

Sherlock too had tensed, but instead of looking at the crystal ball, he was watching John closely, his eyes darting over John’s face.

John’s mouth tightened, then he went limp, Sherlock only just catching the ball before it hit the ground.

‘Anything?’ Dean asked.

‘No,’ Sherlock said sharply, holding John to his chest. ‘He needs to rest.’

‘All right, I’ll find out later,’ Dean said, rolling his eyes. ‘By the way, Neville, what is that supposed to be?’ He nodded at what appeared to be a small grey cactus in a pot that Neville was holding, except that it was covered with boils instead of spines.

‘ _ Mimbulus mimbletonia,’  _ said Neville, beaming. ‘It’s really, really rare. I don’t know if there’s one in the greenhouse at Hogwarts. I can’t wait to show it to Professor Sprout, I’m going to see if I can breed from it.’

‘Cool,’ Dean smirked.

‘Does it - er - do anything?’ Harry asked.

‘Loads of stuff!’ Neville said proudly. ‘It’s got an amazing defensive mechanism. Here, hold Trevor…’ He dumped Trevor into Harry’s lap and took a quill from his schoolbag. He held the plant up to his eyes, carefully choosing the right spot, then giving it a sharp prod with the tip of his quill.

Liquid squirted from every boil on the plant; thick, stinking, dark green jets of it. They hit the ceiling, the windows, and spattered Luna’s magazine. 

Ginny and Dean flung their arms over their faces, but Harry received a faceful, his hands too occupied by Trevor.

John started awake as it hit him, and Sherlock avoided getting any on him, John taking the brunt of it.

‘S-sorry,’ Neville gasped, wiping his face. ‘I haven’t tried that before… didn’t realise it would be quite so… don’t worry, Stinksap’s not poisonous,’ he added nervously.

‘Wonderful,’ Dean said, examining liquid all over the arms of his jacket,

Just then, the door to their compartment opened, and a pretty girl with long black hair stood in the doorway. 

‘Hi, Dean,’ she smiled.

‘Hey, Cho,’ Dean grinned back.

‘I thought I’d come and say hello… Is this a bad time?’ she said, watching Harry wipe the lenses of his glasses with his Trevor-free hand.

‘Oh… hi,’ said Harry blankly.

‘Um…’ said Cho. ‘Well… bye then.’

Rather pink in the face, she closed the door and departed. Harry slumped back in his seat and groaned. Dean did his best to suppress a laugh, but couldn’t quite contain a snort.

‘Never mind,’ said Ginny bracingly. ‘Look, we can easily get rid of this -  _ Scourgify!’ _

The Stinksap vanished.

‘Sorry,’ Neville said again, in a small voice. 

It was almost an hour before Ron and Hermione returned, in which time the lunch trolley had already been and gone. They’d polished off almost all their food when the compartment door opened.

Dean’s head snapped up, but frowned when he saw it was only the two of them. ‘Where’s Cas?’ he asked.

Ron turned around. ‘He was right behind us…’

Hermione bit her lip. ‘He looked just awful, Dean…’

‘I knew we should have gone to get him,’ Dean raged. ‘I’m gonna go find him.’ He stormed out of the compartment and began making his way up the train, barging into every compartment along the way.

Past Fred, George, and Lee, whose compartment was filled with an odd purple smoke. Past a compartment full of Hufflepuffs, including Sam, who gave him a concerned look.

‘No, we haven’t seen him,’ Sam said, worry lines creasing his forehead.

Dean moved on and found another compartment of Ravenclaws. ‘Have any of you seen Cas?’ he asked. 

A boy he didn’t know answered, ‘No, we thought he was with you.’

Dean groaned and left. ‘He’s gotta be on this train somewhere,’ he muttered. 

Then he approached some compartments containing Slytherins. He’d never really understood the rivalry between Slytherin and just about everyone else, but he doubted any of them had seen Cas anyway.

‘What do you want, Winchester?’

Dean groaned again. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know, Malfoy.’

Malfoy looked at him haughtily, and lightly pressed a finger to his prefect badge.

‘You don’t own the train, you can’t take any points from me. I’m allowed to walk.’

‘We’ll see about that.’

Dean rolled his eyes. ‘Why do you have to be such a slime all the time, really?’ He pushed past Malfoy and continued on. Cas wasn’t in the prefects’ carriage either, and neither the Head Boy or Girl had seen him since giving out their instructions.

Beyond that was only an empty carriage, but for the lunch trolley, and a door leading to the driver’s room.

‘Are you still hungry, dear?’ the trolley witch said. ‘Perhaps a nice pumpkin pie.’

‘No thanks,’ Dean sighed, sitting in a chair opposite her.

‘What’s wrong?’ the witch asked, with a friendly smile. 

Dean shrugged. ‘It’s just… I’m worried about a friend of mine. Something’s happening to him, and now I can’t find him, and it’s not like he can be far, this is a train. Maybe he’s hiding? But I don’t know how you could do that on a train.’

The witch just smiled. ‘No one can get off the train. He’s here somewhere, don’t worry.’

Dean didn’t return the smile, instead leaned back in his chair.

‘Is there something still on your mind?’

Dean hesitated, then shook his head. ‘Nah, it’s stupid.’

‘It’s not if it’s upsetting you.’

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It’s kinda selfish though,’ he said. ‘I mean, obviously he’s got stuff to deal with, but he said he’d help me with something, and I… I can’t do it without him. What if I did something wrong and he doesn’t want to help me anymore?’

‘I don’t think you have to worry about that,’ said the trolley witch. ‘He’ll keep you in mind, I’m sure.’

Dean looked up and she gave him a knowing wink. Dean grinned, the ball of nerves inside him loosening. ‘I guess that’s okay,’ he said, standing up.

‘Are you sure you won’t have something to eat?’

‘Maybe I’ll take a Chocolate Frog,’ said Dean.

He munched on it on his way back down the train, very nearly losing it on the first jump. He bumped into Malfoy again on the way back, but ignored him in favour of the last bit of his Frog.

He reached the last carriage to see Luna crying with laughter, Sherlock sighing irritably, and Trevor had somehow found his way into Dolly’s tank. Dean tossed the card he’d got with his Frog to Ron and threw himself down. 

‘Did you find him?’ Hermione asked. 

Dean shook his head. ‘I guess he just doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now.’

The weather remained undecided as they travelled further and further north. Rain spattered the windows half-heartedly. Darkness fell, and the lamps along the train flickered on. They all changed into their robes, and still Cas did not appear.

At last, the train began to slow down and they heard the usual racket up and down the train, as everyone scrambled to get their luggage and pets assembled, ready to get off. As Ron and Hermione were supposed to be supervising this, they were the first to disappear from the carriage, leaving the rest of them to look after Crookshanks and Pigwidgeon.

Dean held Pigwidgeon’s cage at arm’s length, his incessant hooting getting on Dean’s nerves, and Luna ended up with Crookshanks’ cage, narrowly avoiding a swipe. 

Slowly, they moved towards the doors, Dean pushing himself ahead of everyone, hoping to catch a glimpse of Cas helping to herd the first-years in the right direction, and smiling at the thought.

Dean was surprised to hear Professor Grubbly-Plank’s voice instead of Hagrid’s calling for the first-years, but he already had one missing friend to deal with. His eyes swept the platform twice, but still no sign of Cas, so he stepped up to a carriage, patting the Thestrals pulling it as he did so. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny eventually joined him in the carriage. ‘Here,’ he said, dumping Pigwidgeon’s cage into Ron’s lap. He looked hopefully at Hermione, but she shook his head. 

‘I couldn’t find him anywhere,’ she grimaced. ‘I hope he’s all right.’

‘Me too,’ Dean muttered, leaning back in his seat, staring out at the grounds bathed in moonlight. As the carriages trundled up to the castle, Dean thought he saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, there was nothing there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to VegasGranny, OtakuElf, hhhellcat and Novak26 for the comments! See you again soon :)


	10. The Sorting Hat's New Song

Dean stared moodily out of the window, not bothering to join in the conversation in the carriage, thoughts of Cas swirling around in his mind. His eyes swept the grounds, but he didn’t see any more bursts of light. He didn’t even notice when the carriages had stopped and he had to be yanked out by Ron, and still no sign of Cas when he watched everyone climb down from their carriages. Dean grudgingly went inside, the smell of food pulling him in.

The Entrance Hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors leading to the Great Hall.

The four long house tables were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted around the Hall. If Dean had been paying attention, he would have noticed the stares and whispers being aimed at Harry and John.

Luna drifted off to the Ravenclaw table, and Sherlock lingered with John for a moment before going with her. The rest of them filed down the Gryffindor table and found seats about half way down, with Nearly-Headless Nick floating nearby.

As soon as he had taken a seat between John and Hermione, Dean began closely scanning the Ravenclaw table. Sherlock was beside Luna, and Dean spotted Padma Patil, the other fifth-year Prefect, but no Cas.

‘Seen Cas?’ he asked.

John didn’t respond at first. His fists were clenched in front of him on the table, his eyes were flitting around and he was blinking rapidly. ‘Erm...no…’he said eventually, then clamping his mouth shut.

'Who's _that?'_ Hermione said sharply, drawing everyone's attention to the top table.

Dumbledore was in his usual seat, wearing deep purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat. His head was inclined towards the woman sitting next to him, who was talking in his ear. She had short, curly, mouse-brown hair, in which she had placed a horrible pink bow that matched the fluffy cardigan she was wearing over her robes. Then she turned her face, revealing pallid, toad like features, with a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes.

'It's that Umbridge woman!' said Harry.

'Who?' asked Hermione.

'She was at my hearing, she works for Fudge!'

Dean started as he recognised the name and wrinkled his nose. 'Not _Dolores_ Umbridge?' he said in disgust. 'Her werewolf laws are awful.'

Then John spat out his drink, suddenly unable to suppress a laugh.

'Sorry, is werewolf discrimination funny, or…?'

John shook his head. 'I think I accidentally named my toad after her. _Dolly.'_ John dissolved into laughter again.

'What on earth is she doing here?' Hermione frowned. She scanned the staff table, eyes narrowed. 'No,' she muttered, 'surely not…'

Before Dean could ask her to elaborate, the door to the Great Hall opened and a long line of first-years entered, led by Professor McGonagall. She was carrying the Sorting Hat and its three-legged stool.

The buzz of talk in the Hall faded away. The first-years lined up in front of the staff table and Professor McGonagall placed the hat and the stool before them.

Dean remembered how scared everyone around him had been, but he was more confused than anything else, and resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be going to Ilvermorny, and he would be spending the next few years in this strange country. He didn't even know what being sorted into Gryffindor would mean.

The whole school waited with bated breath. Then the rip near the brim of the hat opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song:

  
  


_In times of old when I was new_

_And Hogwarts barely started_

_The founders of our noble school_

_Thought never to be parted:_

_United by a common goal,_

_They had the selfsame yearning,_

_To make the world's best magic school_

_And pass along their learning._

_'Together we will build and teach!'_

_The four good friends decided_

_And never did they dream that they_

_Might some day be divided,_

_For were there such friends anywhere_

_As Slytherin and Gryffindor?_

_Unless it was the second pair_

_Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?_

_So how could it have gone so wrong?_

_How could such friendships fail?_

_Why, I was there and so can tell_

_The whole sad, sorry tale._

_Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those_

_Whose ancestry is purest.'_

_Said Ravenclaw, 'We'll teach those whose_

_Intelligence is surest.'_

_Said Gryffindor, 'We'll teach all those_

_With brave deeds to their name.'_

_Said Hufflepuff, 'I'll teach the lot,_

_And treat them just the same.'_

_These differences caused little strife_

_When they first came to light,_

_For each four founders had_

_A house in which they might_

_Take only those they wanted, so,_

_For instance, Slytherin_

_Took only pure-blood wizards_

_Of great cunning just like him,_

_And only those of sharpest mind_

_Were taught by Ravenclaw_

_While the bravest and the boldest_

_Went to daring Gryffindor._

_Good Hufflepuff took the rest,_

_And taught them all she knew,_

_Thus the houses and their founders_

_Retained friendships firm and true._

_So Hogwarts worked in harmony_

_For several happy years,_

_But then discord crept among us_

_Feeding on our faults and fears._

_The houses that, like pillars four,_

_Had once held up our school,_

_Now turned upon each other and,_

_Divided, sought to rule_

_And for a while it seemed the school_

_Must meet an early end,_

_What with duelling and with fighting_

_And the clash of friend on friend_

_And at last there came a morning_

_When old Slytherin departed_

_And though the fighting then died out_

_He left us quite downhearted._

_And never since the founders four_

_Were whittled down to three_

_Have the houses been united_

_As they were once meant to be._

_And now the Sorting Hat is here_

_And you all know the score:_

_I sort you into houses_

_Because that is what I'm for,_

_But this year I'll go further,_

_Listen closely to my song:_

_Though condemned I am to split you_

_Still I worry that it's wrong_

_Though I must fulfil my duty_

_And must quarter you every year_

_Still I wonder whether Sorting_

_May not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils, read the signs,_

_The warning history shows,_

_For our Hogwarts is in danger_

_From external deadly foes_

_And we must unite inside her_

_Or we'll crumble from within_

_I have told you, I have warned you_

_Let the Sorting now begin._

  
  


The Hat became motionless once more; applause broke out, though it was punctured by muttering and whispers.

Dean considered its words carefully. The Sorting Hat usually confined itself to describing the qualities looked for by each of the four houses and its own role in Sorting them, but now it was trying to give them advice and convince them to band together. Dean felt no house pride, nor any loyalty to the school itself, but he thought of Sam and felt a sickening jolt as he thought of Cedric. The Hat thought they should all stick together, but it only made Castiel's disappearance more glaringly obvious. Dean glanced over at the Ravenclaw table again, at the empty seat that Sherlock had saved for Cas. He didn't have much time to dwell on it, however, as John began to tremble next to him, and Sherlock's eyes bored into them as he ground the handle of his knife into the table. Dean put an arm around John to keep him steady while he had his vision, and watched Professor McGonagall begin reading out the names on her long piece of parchment.

She began with 'Abercrombie, Euan!' who came to Gryffindor, and ended with 'Zeller, Rose!' who went to Hufflepuff.

Dean was glad when it was over, his stomach had started to rumble, and John pushed his arm away just as Dumbledore rose to begin the feast.

'To our newcomers,' Dumbledore said in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, 'welcome! To our old hats - welcome back! There is time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!'

There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of his plate.

Dean piled food onto his plate, eager to eat, but eager to finish so he could talk to Dumbledore. He reached across the table for a jug of gravy, but he didn't quite make it, his scars restricting his movement. Hermione passed it to him without a word. Dean poured his gravy, rubbing the spot on his shoulder that felt the tightest, and began wolfing down his food. The upside to having werewolf scratches was that Sam no longer bothered him about what he ate. He always just put it down to whatever weird lycanthropic craving Dean was having that day. He'd also had to start shaving, much to Sam's amusement. Not that he didn't enjoy the looks he got for it, but they never came from the one person he wanted them to. He glanced up at Cas's empty seat again, earning himself an eye roll from Sherlock.

At last the food was finished, and talking ceased immediately as everyone turned to face Dumbledore.

'Well, now that we're all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start of term notices,' said Dumbledore. 'First-years ought to note that the Forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students - a few of our older students ought to know by now, too.'

John shuddered beside Dean, and Harry, Ron and Hermione gave each other amused smirks. Dean frowned. Of all of them, he was the one that had spent the least amount of time in the Forest. Even _Cas_ had been in the Forest more than he had. He immediately made plans to rectify the situation. No way did he want to be seen as the _well-behaved_ one in the group.

'Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to remind you that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr Filch's office door.

'We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.'

There was a round of polite but unenthusiastic applause.

Dumbledore continued, 'Tryouts for the house Quidditch teams will take place on the-'

He broke off, looking enquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge cleared her throat, ' _Hem, hem,'_ and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech.

Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows disappeared into her flyaway hair and Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as they had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; obviously this woman did not know how things were done at Hogwarts.

'Thank you, Headmaster,' Professor Umbridge simpered, 'for those kind words of welcome.'

Her voice was high-pitched, breathy and little-girlish. Dean felt a powerful rush of dislike. He loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her fluffy pink cardigan. She gave another little throat clearing cough ( _'hem, hem')_ and continued.

'Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!' She smiled widely. 'And to see such happy little faces looking up at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!'

Contempt welled up inside Dean, and he heard whispers and giggles coming from Lavender and Parvati some way down the table.

John beside him had his fists clenched on the table. His eyes were unfocused, staring into space, but his expression was twisted into one of deep disgust.

Umbridge launched into what seemed to be a well-rehearsed speech, and Dean's concentration disappeared almost immediately. He felt himself getting fidgety, so he looked around to watch everyone else.

Sherlock was resting his head on the table, not even trying to hide the fact that he wasn't paying attention. John was still stuck in whatever vision he was having, but Dean knew John would grab him if he needed. Sam was still watching Umbridge, concerned creases forming between his eyebrows. Many other people started chatting and Luna pulled out her copy of _The Quibbler._ Despite all this, Umbridge plowed through her speech, showing no signs of having noticed that restlessness of her audience.

Dean's mind once again wandered back to Cas. He would have been listening intently, Dean bet, and the thought if Cas's face deeply concentrating made him smile. Dean sighed. He'd never expected himself to feel so strongly about someone, but he just couldn't push it away. _Smitten_ was the word Sam would use.

Dean didn't even notice that Umbridge had finished her speech until Dumbledore's voice rang out again.

'Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,' he said, giving her a small bow. 'Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held at the end of the month, so please notify your captains of your interest if you wish to participate. But now, it is time for bed, off you all pop!'

Chairs scraped as everyone got to their feet, and Dean jumped up.

'Hermione, what's the password?' Dean said hurriedly, hopping from one foot to the other, staring up at the staff table.

' _Mimbulus mimbletonia,'_ she said.

'Of course it is. See ya.'

Dean pushed his way between the house tables, against the flow of students trying to leave the Hall. He finally emerged at the top of the room and ran towards Dumbledore, but was stopped by McGonagall before he could reach him.

'Can I help you, Winchester?' she asked.

'Yeah, I just gotta talk to Professor Dumbledore-' he tried to go around her, but she just stepped into his path.

'The Headmaster is very busy, perhaps I can be of assistance,' McGonagall said firmly.

Dean looked desperately over her head just in time to see Dumbledore disappear through the door at the back of the Hall. He sighed and looked at McGonagall. 'Fine. It's about Cas. Something is _really_ wrong and we gotta do something about it. Professor, I don't think he's safe.'

McGonagall's expression softened ever so slightly, but she didn't move. 'We're looking into it,' she said evasively.

'Looking into it?' Dean repeated. 'What's that supposed to mean? I brought this up weeks ago, haven't you seen him? We have to help him _now.'_

 _'_ We're doing what we can.'

'But _what?'_

 _'_ I can't discuss this with you now, Winchester. Please return to your dormitory, and remember that you will now be with the other fifth-years.'

Dean groaned and stomped from the Hall. He knew he wouldn't get any further that night, so he climbed the marble staircase. He briefly thought of Professor Umbridge and grimaced. If her teaching in any way involved her awful views on werewolves, centaurs, and other creatures, then they would be in trouble. His scars prickled uncomfortably.

When he arrived in the dormitory, it was to a tense atmosphere. Seamus and Harry were already hidden behind their curtains, and John was holding his pajamas limply in his hands.

'We wondered who that was for,' Ron muttered, nodding at the extra bed that had been squeezed into the room.

'Yep, it's me.'

'Aren't you going to miss your friends?' Neville said in concern.

Dean snorted. 'Trust me, McLaggen will _not_ miss me.' Everyone turned to their beds, full and sleepy from the feast, and Dean crouched beside John's bed. 'You need some help with that?' he said in amusement.

John shook his head and mumbled something unintelligible, then pulled the curtains around his bed.

Dean was the last to go to bed. He struggled to get changed, his scars tugging whenever he lifted his arms. He lay down hot, itchy and irritated, falling asleep with Cas on his mind.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to hhhellcat, OtakuElf and HallowedBlock07 for the comments! See you again soon!


	11. Professor Umbridge

Dean was the first to wake the next morning, when he rolled over and his scars tugged harshly. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and pulled open his curtains. The first thing he noticed was that John's curtains were outside open, and that at some point in the night, Sherlock had made his way to their dormitory. Dean attempted to get dressed, but his scars were now so tight he couldn't lift his arms enough to take off his pajamas. He sighed. It was definitely time to go to the hospital wing, so he threw his cloak around himself and hoped that no one would notice he wasn't dressed at breakfast. He wanted to eat before he went. He stood awkwardly, just as Seamus was beginning to stir. 

'Go to the hospital wing,' John mumbled in his sleep as Dean passed. 

'I'm going, jeez,' Dean sniggered. He laughed again at a notice the Weasley twins had put up looking for testers for their merchandise, and carefully made his way down the marble staircase. He knew without looking that Cas wasn't there. He was rarely at breakfast, even when he was feeling okay. 

Dean was barely in his seat before Sam was throwing himself down in the next seat. 

'Are you okay?' Sam asked. 'It was full moon last night.' 

'Yep. Totally fine.' 

Sam looked down at his legs. 'You're… still in your pjs.' 

Dean rolled his eyes. 'Fine, so they're a little tight, no big deal.' 

'That's your own fault for not taking the potion Cas gave you.'

'Whatever, Sam,' Dean grumbled. 

Professor McGonagall came around with their timetables, which Dean didn't look at, then Harry and Ron came in with Hermione arguing with the twins. 

'You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long,' Fred was saying. 'You've got your exams coming up and they'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw. 

'Yeah, fifth year sucks,' Dean agreed. 

'That why you're doing it again?' Sam teased. 

'That implies that I actually did it the first time, which I did not.' 

Then Sherlock and John arrived, neither of them looking particularly well-rested. Hermione handed them their timetables but neither of them said a word. 

Dean finished his breakfast and stood. 'Right, I gotta go, I'm tired of looking at all your ugly faces.' 

'Gonna go look at a prettier face?' Sam smirked. 

'Yep. Madam Pomfrey's up there waiting for me.' 

'Aren't you coming to History of Magic?' Hermione asked. 

'Yeah, like I would go to History of Magic,' Dean laughed. 

'Dean, you can't skive off in front of a prefect,' Hermione frowned. 

'I'm not "skiving off", I'm going to the hospital wing. You wouldn't dock me points for being injured, would you?' He gave her a charming smile and she rolled her eyes. 

'No,' she said begrudgingly. 

'All right then, see you squares later.' 

Dean made his way back up the stairs, and his back was burning by the time he got there. He took a moment to catch his breath and went inside, expecting to find Madam Pomfrey, but instead he saw Castiel standing at the end of the room, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He still looked exhausted and ill, but miles better than he had been the day before. 

'Oh,' was all Dean managed. 'I didn't think you'd be here.' 

Cas didn't move. 

'But since you're here, can you take a look at my back for me? It's driving me crazy.' 

Cas just stared at him for a moment, then nodded and pointed at the bed nearest to him. 

Dean sat down and waited for Cas to collect his potions. 'Uh, could you help me with this?' he said, tugging on his shirt. 'I can't get it off.' 

Cas nodded and helped Dean pull his arms through his shirt and over his head. Cas then sat on the bed behind Dean, and Dean smiled. He'd seen Cas treating things on other students' backs before, but he always stood to one side to examine them. This was for Dean and Dean alone. He could feel Cas trembling behind him, so he didn't say anything for a while. 

Cas put his hand to Dean's back and he shivered. It was cold against his inflamed skin. Then Cas began methodically working a soothing potion into Dean's scars. 

Dean took a chance when he felt Cas's shaking subside. 'Thought you'd come visit over the summer,' he said. 'You missed a bunch of crazy stuff, you know. Harry got attacked by Dementors and some Death Eaters tried to kidnap John. It was wild. What happened to you?' 

Cas stopped, and Dean could hear him holding his breath. 

'Me and Sam had to stay at Sirius's house for a while too, but you wouldn't have liked it there. It was gross.' Dean continued on, telling Cas all about his summer, but pointedly leaving out the parts about Demons, until Cas began to wear down. Dean chanced another question. 'I thought you were moving to Hogsmeade anyway. Wouldn't that save you a trip to King's Cross?' 

Cas finally cracked, and Dean felt Cas's head drop onto his back. 

Dean let out a small, surprised gasp. 'Cas, what's wrong?' 

It took Cas a few gulps of air before he could get it out. 'Gabriel's gone,' he choked. 

Dean's heart dropped. 'What do you mean he's gone?' 

'We- we went back to our house. We were only supposed to be staying one more night to pack, but he disappeared before I woke up. I don't know where he went. He left me.' It was long overdue, and the words poured from Cas's mouth. 'I need him. I can't do this without him, he's supposed to keep me safe.' 

'Keep you safe from what?' 

Cas avoided the question. 'I can't do this alone.' 

Dean finally turned to face Cas. His eyes were swimming and he was holding his arm tightly. 'Listen, I'm sorry about Gabriel, but you know what? I bet he's just fine. You told me yourself that he's the best you've ever seen at defensive magic, right?' 

Cas nodded. 

'And hey, the guy loves you more than anybody. I'm sure he wouldn't have left unless he thought it would be the best thing for you.' 

Cas looked sceptical at this. 

'Whatever he's running from, I'm betting he's just trying to keep it away from you.' 

Cas's lip trembled and he held his head in his hands. 'I don't know what to do.' 

'I got some experience with this kinda thing, and honestly, the only thing you can do is keep going. You're smart, you're practical, you can definitely do this… and you're not alone.' 

Cas sniffed. 'Thank you, Dean.' 

'This feels great, by the way,' Dean said, rolling his shoulders. 'Much better.' 

'I'm not done yet, turn around. I need to soften the scar tissue.' 

'That sounds more like the Cas I know, but with a way deeper voice. Congratulations on that, by the way.' 

'I hadn't noticed.' Cas dabbed more potion on Dean's scars. This one stung. 

'You know what might make you feel better?' Dean asked to distract himself. 

'What?' 

'Quidditch tryouts are soon. You should go for the Ravenclaw team.' 

'I can't,' Cas said automatically. 

'Why not?' 

Cas considered it for a moment, as though he'd never thought about the  _ why  _ before. 'I don't have a broom,' he said eventually. 

'You can borrow mine - hang on.  _ Accio.'  _ He Summoned his broom and passed it to Cas. 'It's only an old Nimbus two-thousand, but I never use it, so…' 

Cas looked at it and a flash of fear crossed his face before he put it down. 'Thanks. Turn around.' Cas worked his way down Dean's back, soaking every inch of his scars in the stinging potion. 

'Listen, Cas, I get it if you - if you don't feel like you can help me - with reading and stuff,' Dean said nervously. 'You've got a lot going on, so…' 

'I promised I'd help you,' Cas said firmly. 'Researching for it was the only thing that kept me going this summer. I still need to speak to Sherlock, I have ideas, I just…' 

'Needed a minute?' 

'Yes. I should be ready by the end of the day. Can you wait until then?' 

'I'm sure I can find a way to hang on,' Dean laughed. 

Cas finally put the potion down. 'Done,' he said. 'They shouldn't give you any more trouble, at least not for a while.' 

'Awesome.' Dean put his shirt back on himself, stretching his arms experimentally. He pulled out his timetable and squinted at it. 'Okay, so if I hurry I can still make it to History of Magic… That way I won't have to come up for an excuse for Snape… But do I really want to go to History of Magic? That's the real question.' 

'You have to go to class, Dean.' 

Dean looked up at him and his prefect badge. 'Damn, foiled again. Guess I'm going to History of Magic.' 

'What else do you have today?' Cas asked. 

'Uh, so Potions, Divination, Defence Against the Dark Arts, jeez, this is like the worst Monday ever.' 

'I thought you liked Defence Against the Dark Arts,' Cas frowned. 

'Yeah well, the new teacher rubs me the wrong way.' 

Cas sighed. 'Something else to deal with this year. Will you meet me in the library after dinner?' 

'Sure. Something to look forward to.' 

Cas blushed and shooed Dean towards the door. 

'By the way, how did you hide on the train? I looked for you.' 

'Disillusionment Charm,' Cas said, pushing him out of the hospital wing. 

'Seriously? That was some charm, I couldn't see you at all.' 

'Go to class, Dean,' Cas said, blushing even redder, then closing the door. 

Dean couldn't stop smiling as he climbed up to Gryffindor Tower. He'd finally got Cas to open up about something. He knew there was more, but it was a start, and now that they were working more closely together, he could keep trying to get more out of Cas. 

He didn't exactly hurry to get himself dressed, and only made it to History of Magic with a few minutes to spare. Professor Binns didn't notice him come in, so he sat in an empty seat next to John, flicking bits of parchment at him to keep him awake. 

'Dude, what's wrong with you?' Dean said to John during break. 

John was staring into space, eyes unfocused. 'Erm… it's just all the magic and everyone around. I'll be fine, I just have to get used to it. Did you - did you find out anything about Cas?' 

'Yeah, Gabriel's missing… Hey, do you think you can find him?' 

John shook his head. 'I don't know him very well, so I wouldn't know where to start. If I could find one of his threads, I might be able to follow it, but it would be almost impossible.' 

'His what?' 

'Oh, that's how I've been seeing things lately. Lots of threads and colours. If I follow yours one way, I can see you at your house. If I follow it another way… I don't know, but I'm assuming it's a lot of Castiel. Your threads get fuzzy when he's around, I can't see him very well. '

Dean smiled at that, and watched Harry have a very awkward conversation with Cho Chang before they all headed to Potions. He sat beside John again, though he was more alert now he was down in the chilly dungeon. 

'Settle down,' Snape said coldly, closing the door behind him. 'Before we begin today's lesson, I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are… ' His gaze rested on Dean for a moment and anger flared in Dean's stomach. 'I expect you to scrape an "Acceptable" in your OWL, or suffer my… displeasure. After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me. I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means some of us will certainly be saying goodbye. But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell, so, whether or not you are intending to attempt NEWT, I advise all of you to concentrate upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students. 

'Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: if you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients, you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing. 'The ingredients and method are on the blackboard-' He flicked his wand and they appeared there 'you will find everything you need in the store cupboard, you have an hour and a half… start.' 

Dean glanced up at the board, only to confirm what he already knew: he couldn't read Snape's handwriting. The words were too close together, even smaller than usual since it was a more complicated potion. They wobbled around on the board, refusing to make sense. Dean had made this potion before though, so he mostly went on instinct and memory. He thought he was getting it mostly right until about ten minutes before the end, when Snape called, 'A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion.' Dean frowned at his. It was more of a smoky blue colour. John was stirring his own potion vaguely, which looked almost as good as Hermione's, but not quite.

Snape swept through the dungeon, inspecting everyone's potions. He stopped at Dean's, looking down at it. 

'Winchester, what is this supposed to be?' 

Dean's jaw tightened. 'The Draught of Peace.' 

'Tell me, Winchester,' said Snape softly, 'can you read?' 

The Slytherins at the front of the room sniggered loudly, and Dean's anger boiled. 

'Yes, I can,' he growled. 

'Really? What does the third line of the instructions say?' 

Dean looked over at the blackboard, but couldn't make out the words. 'It says "eat me".' 

'Twenty points from Gryffindor,' Snape snapped. 'Seeing as we'll be stuck with each other for another year, try and actually learn something this time. This mess is utterly worthless.  _ Evanesco.'  _

The contents of Dean's cauldron vanished, and Snape did the same with Harry's. 

'Those of you who  _ have  _ managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing. Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.'

Dean seethed while everyone brought their potions up, and went for a long walk at lunch. He would see Cas after dinner, he reminded himself. Cas would help him fix it. He could be normal. He could read Snape's instructions right to his ugly face. Dean took a deep breath. He wanted to skip Divination, but he promised Cas he'd try, so at the end of the lunch hour, he climbed all the way up to the North Tower, where he found Harry sitting alone, waiting for the silver ladder to drop so they could get into Trelawney's room. Harry looked thunderous, so Dean didn't bother him. 

Dean took the seat nearest the window. The fumes in Trelawney's room always made him dizzy. The room filled and Trelawney began the lesson. 

'Good day,' she said, in her usual dreamy voice. 'Welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely - as, of course, I knew you would. 

'You will find on the tables before you copies of  _ The Dream Oracle,  _ by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your OWL. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the Headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so… '

Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that she considered her subject above such sordid matters as examinations. 

'Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then, divide into pairs. Use  _ The Dream Oracle  _ to interpret each other's most recent dreams. Carry on.' 

Dean ignored his book and watched the grounds outside instead, barely even noticing when John came to sit next to him. 'It's really intimidating doing this with an actual Seer, you know,' Dean joked. 

John rolled his eyes. 'Let's just give this a go. I'll start, I could do with the practice. What was your last dream about?' 

Dean thought about it. He didn't need his dreams interpreted, he knew exactly what the nightmares meant. 'In my last dream I forgot my robes and I went to class naked. What do you think that means?' 

John gave him an exasperated look, but turned the pages of his book. 'Have you been feeling exposed at all? Or maybe you  _ will  _ be exposed…' John stopped and stared at the page, then said, 'Is Castiel in the dream?' 

'Sometimes,' Dean smirked. 

'Maybe it's something to do with him. You might find out what's going on with him.' 

'It's not a real dream, John.' 

But John ignored him, looking him straight in the face with glazed over eyes. 'Yeah, I think you will.' Then he rubbed his face, turning pale. 

'You okay, buddy?' 

'Yeah, sorry.' 

John rested his head on the table for the rest of the lesson, only groaning quietly when Professor Trelawney tasked them with keeping a dream journal for the next month. Dean pushed away his frustration. Cas would help him. The bell rung and they all climbed down from the North Tower, complaining about the amount of homework they had been given. 

When they entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teacher's desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan from the night before. Dean saw John cover his mouth to hide his amusement. 

'Well, good afternoon!' she said, once everyone had sat down. 

A few people mumbled 'Good afternoon' in reply. 

'Tut, tut,' said Professor Umbridge. ' _ That  _ won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge". One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!' 

'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,' they chanted back at her, except Dean, though she didn't appear to notice. 

'There, now,' said Professor Umbridge sweetly. 'That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.' 

Dean bit his lip, and tucked away his wand, twiddling his quill around instead. 

Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracting her own wand, which was unusually short, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once. 

Her writing was slightly more legible than Snape's, so Dean tried mouthing the words. He made out the first line as  _ Defence Against the Dark Arts.  _ On the second line, he only got the word  _ Basic  _ before Professor Umbridge distracted him. 

'Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it? The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year. 

'You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.' 

She rapped the blackboard again and the first message disappeared. It was replaced by much more writing, which Dean didn't even attempt. By now, he was well practiced at pretending to write things down, when he was actually doodling on scraps of parchment. 

'Has everybody got a copy of  _ Defensive Magical Theory  _ by Wilbert Slinkhard?' 

There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class. 

'I think we'll try that again,' said Professor Umbridge. 'When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, "Yes, Professor Umbridge", or "No, Professor Umbridge". So: has everyone got a copy of  _ Defensive Magical Theory  _ by Wilbert Slinkhard?'

'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' rang through the room. 

'Good,' said Professor Umbridge. 'I should like you to turn to page five and read "Chapter One, Basics for Beginners". There will be no need to talk.' 

Dean had promised Cas and that was what got him as far as opening the book in the first place, but as soon as he saw the long blocks of text, he gave up. He knew how to pretend to read too, and followed John's pace, turning a page whenever he did, though Dean wasn't entirely certain John was reading it. He kept looking up at Umbridge, his face scrunched in concentration. 

'Pink,' John muttered at one point. 

Dean started to get bored, but when he looked up, he was shocked to see that Hermione had not even opened her book. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air. He stopped pretending to read and watched Hermione instead, as did most other people in the room after a few minutes. 

When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer. 

'Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?' 

'Not about the chapter, no,' said Hermione. 

'Well, we're reading just now. If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.' 

'I've got a query about your course aims.' 

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows. 'And your name is?' 

'Hermione Granger.' 

'Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully.' 

'Well, I don't,' Hermione said bluntly. 'There's nothing written up there about  _ using  _ defensive spells.' 

Dean blinked, surprised. 

' _ Using  _ defensive spells?' Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. 'Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. Surely you aren't expected to be attacked during class.' 

'We're not going to use magic?' Ron exclaimed loudly. 

'Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr -?' 

'Weasley,' said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air, which Professor Umbridge ignored.

Harry and Hermione also raised their hands. 

'Yes, Miss Granger, you wanted to ask something else?' 

'Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?' 

'Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?' 

'No, but-' 

'Then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the "whole point" of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way-' 

'What use is that?' Harry said loudly. 'If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a-' 

' _ Hand _ , Mr Potter!' 

Harry thrust his fist in the air and Professor Umbridge promptly turned away, but now several other people had their hands in the air. 

'Well, Mr Weasley?' 

'It's like Harry said, isn't it?' said Ron. 'If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk free.' 

'I repeat, do you expect to be attacked during my classes?' 

'No, but-' 

Professor Umbridge talked over him. 'I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run at this school,' she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, 'but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention,' she gave a nasty little laugh, 'extremely dangerous half-breeds.' 

Dean was irritated already, but now it came rushing to the surface and he ground his teeth. 

'It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you.' 

'Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?' Ron said hotly. 'Mind you, we still learned loads.' 

' _ Your hand is not up, Mr Weasley!'  _ Professor Umbridge trilled. 'Now, it is the view that of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is about. And your name is?' she added, as Parvati's hand shot up. 

'Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?' 

'As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions,' said Professor Umbridge dismissively. 

'Without ever practising them beforehand?' said Parvati incredulously. 'Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during the exam?' 

'I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough-' 

'And what good's theory going to be in the real world?' said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again. 

'This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world,' Professor Umbridge said softly. 

'So we're not supposed to prepare for what's waiting for us out there?'

'There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter.' 

Dean finally snapped. He pulled his leg up and dropped it on the desk with a bang, drawing everyone's attention to the back of the room where he was sitting. He pulled up his trouser leg, showing them all the burn. He put his hand up mockingly. 'Where do you think that came from?' he said, staring at Professor Umbridge. 

'Well-' 

'It was a Demon. He cast Fiendfyre and burned down my house with my mother inside. Are you trying to tell me - the son of an  _ Auror _ \- that there's nothing dangerous out there?' 

'There are no Demons anymore, Mr-?' 

'Winchester.' He noted her eyes widen slightly with satisfaction. 'Listen, I don't know where you're getting your information, lady, but you're dead wrong. There  _ are  _ Demons. There  _ are  _ Death Eaters, and you're an idiot if you think otherwise.' 

'I assure you, Mr Winchester, that the Ministry is more informed than you are on the matter.' 

'Oh, you think so? Because MACUSA are on high alert right now, but if your crappy Ministry-' 

'Do not you profanity in my class,' Professor Umbridge said shrilly.

'If your  _ CRAPPY MINISTRY _ , thinks we're safe, they're damn wrong.' 

'Well, Mr Winchester, if you find our government so terrible, perhaps you ought to return to your own.' 

Shocked gasps ran around the room. 

Dean's cheeks blazed. 'I'm outta here,' he said, getting up and kicking over his stool. 

'Sit down, Mr Winchester.' 

'What do you mean, Professor? I'm going back to my country, just like you said.' He snatched his bag up and stormed from the room, ignoring the shouts from behind him. 

He stomped away from the classroom and he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He tried not to get angry. He tried to get on with his classwork, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to throw his whole bag in the lake and take off home. Back to his father, back to the open roads. Maybe even to Ilvermorny. But Sam loved it here. And Cas believed in him. He sighed and slumped against a wall. 

'Okay, you can do this,' he said to himself, taking a deep breath. 'Go for a walk, cool off, and come back to see Cas.' He pinched the bridge of his nose. 'You can do this.' 

He dropped his bag off in Gryffindor Tower, then walked several laps of the lake, working off his anger and frustration. He knew he did want to see Umbridge's squashed face again, at least that day, so he decided to go down to the kitchens to eat his dinner early, and spend some time with the House-elves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to hhhellcat and VegasGranny for the comments! See you again soon!


	12. Detention with Dolores

The House-elves were far better company than anyone else, but Dean grudgingly left them when he had eaten his fill and made his way up to the library, where he was supposed to meet Cas. He chose a table near the door, so Cas would see him when he came in, and pulled out his books. Cas arrived not long after and was surprised to see him. 

'You're early,' Cas said. 'I was going to set everything up first. Why aren't you at dinner? Have you eaten?' 

Dean shrugged. 'I ate in the kitchens. I kinda left Dark Arts early.' 

'Dean, you can't skip classes anymore,' Cas chastised as he grabbed things out of his bag. 

Dean folded his arms and sunk down in his chair. 'Whatever, she just wanted us to read a book the whole time, there was no point in me being there,' he said bitterly. 

Cas put his bag on the floor. 'All right,' he said quietly. 'Have you had much homework today?' 

Dean breathed deeply, forcing himself out of his stormy mood. 'Yeah, something about trolls or goblins or something for History of Magic, an essay about moonstones for Snape, and Trelawney wants us to write a dream diary for a month…' Dean trailed off, panic rising in his voice now that he was faced with the almost insurmountable pile of work he'd accumulated in just one day. He'd always been able to brush it off before, he didn't need to do the work, he could just coast by until MACUSA made him an Auror on reputation alone. 

'Don't worry, Dean, you can do it,' Cas said kindly. 'Let's start with something simple, so we can find what works before we tackle something else.' Cas sat down beside Dean and put a book in front of him. 'Can you read the title?' 

Dean looked down at it and rubbed his eyes. How was he supposed to concentrate on reading when Cas was sitting so close to him? 'Uh, it's  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard.'  _

'Good,' Cas smiled, then opened the book. 'How about this?' He pointed at the title of the first story. The font was smaller and slightly curler, but Dean managed it. 

' _ The Wizard and the Hopping Pot.'  _

Cas nodded encouragingly. 'Can you read any of the story itself?' 

'Um…' Dean stopped. The words underneath the title were small, and they shifted around too much. 'No,' he mumbled, cheeks warming. 

'It's nothing to be ashamed of,' Cas said firmly. 'The only people that should be embarrassed are the ones that let you suffer like this for so long without noticing.' 

'If you say so.' 

'I do. Now, how do the words appear? Can you still see individual words, or do they all get mixed up?'

'They all kinda jump around.' 

Cas nodded. 'Let's try this.' He tapped his wand against the book and the words rearranged themselves so that the spaces between them were wider. 'How about now?' 'It-it's a little better.' Dean made it a few lines in before everything started to wobble again, so Cas made the spaces between lines widen as well. 'Wow, that's great,' Dean smiled, reading the story out to Cas. But about half way, his eyes began to prickle and it got harder to read again. 

'Don't be upset if it's still difficult,' Cas said soothingly. 'It's like a muscle, you can't expect it to be in great shape if you haven't been strengthening it. Take a break and we'll keep going in a minute.' 

Dean nodded, rubbing his eyes. 'Are we gonna keep reading this book? 'Cause I got a lot of homework…' 

'We'll get there one step at a time.' 

'Okay.' 

Dean took a breather, then carried on, reading slowly, haltingly. He winced every time he made a mistake, but Cas corrected him gently, asking him what had made him trip up. A flipped letter here, or a blurred word there. 

'We'll keep tweaking it until it fits,' Cas said when he noticed Dean getting frustrated again. 'How about I make the letters heavier on the bottom, so they don't flip around so much?' 

'You've really put a lot of thought into this.' 

Cas smiled at him. 

Just as they were starting again, the doors to the library opened, and Professor McGonagall came in. 

'Winchester,' she said sternly. 'It seems you're already getting yourself into trouble, although it's nice to see you taking your studies seriously.' 

Dean looked up at her and the pink slip of paper she was holding. 

'Professor Umbridge has given you five days' detention for shouting in her class and for leaving before she dismissed you. '

Dean shoved away his book. 'Great, thanks for letting me know, I'll be sure to bring her a cookie.' 

'Winchester, you need to be more careful. Try to remember where she came from, and where she has influence.' 

'I don't care,' Dean snapped. 'She told me to go back to my country, so I'm not interested in a damn thing she has to say.' 

'She  _ what?'  _ Cas gasped. 

Professor McGonagall's face softened. 'Don't let this get in the way of your learning. I can see you're already working hard, and I don't see why  _ anything  _ should stop you.' 

Dean opened his mouth, but Cas stood on his foot under the table. 

'Thank you, Professor. He'll be at his detention tomorrow,' Cas said. 

'Good.' Professor McGonagall's left and Dean groaned. 

'Dean, look at me,' Cas said. 'I'm sorry she said that to you, but Professor Umbridge is very high up in the Ministry. There's nothing you, or I, or anyone can do if the Minister himself decides to revoke your residency order. Do you understand?' 

Dean stared into Cas's anxious expression, and Dean knew he couldn't handle anymore worry. 'Yeah, I get it.' Dean leaned back in his chair. 'Do you ever miss home, Cas? You know, America?' 

'I wasn't born there. It was never really my home.'

Dean sighed, but Cas seemed to sense that wasn't the answer he wanted. 

'I miss… the fourth of July,' Cas said eventually. 

'Really?'

'We always made the trip back to celebrate. We would take a boat out onto Lake Michigan and my father would set off the most amazing fireworks.' 

'Lake Michigan, is that the best you can do for the fourth of July?' Dean teased, nudging Cas. 

Cas nudged him back. 'It's where my father's from. My mother thought it was a silly tradition, she didn't really get it, but that's why she loved it. While we were out on the boat, she would get this huge blanket and wrap us all up in it while we watched Father's fireworks.' Cas stopped and rubbed his arm, and he started shaking again. 'I think we're done for today,' he said, packing away his things. 'You did very well.' 

'Cas, you're not breathing again.' 

Cas nodded but couldn't stop his breath coming in gasps. 

'Hey, hey, slow down, it's okay,' Dean said gently. 

Cas attempted to calm himself, but only got more panicky when he couldn't. 'I can't,' he gasped. 'I need Gabriel, I can't do it.'

'Yeah you can, I'll count for you, come on.' Dean went to hold his shoulder, but a shock shot through his fingertips and up his arm as he touched an invisible forcefield. ' _ Ow,  _ your Shield Charm.' 

'S-sorry, I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry-' 

'Shh, it's okay, let's just count, you got this… One… two… three… four…' It took a few cycles, but Cas eventually calmed down enough to conjure himself a goblet of water and remove his Shield Charm. Dean smiled at him, but then he turned a pale shade of green. 

'I have to go,' Cas said, abruptly getting up. 

'Cas, wait-' 

Cas clapped a hand to his mouth, shaking his head, a thin layer of sweat beading on his forehead. 

'Are you sick? Can I help?' 

Cas just shook his head more vigorously, heaving as he snatched up his bag and ran out of the room. 

Dean stayed where he was for a while, thinking. There was so much that Cas was hiding, but Dean knew it was all starting to come out, he could tell. Cas rarely talked about his mother, and never unprompted. He was starting to trust Dean, and if he could be so patient then so could Dean. He too then packed away his things and made his way back up to Gryffindor Tower. 

It was almost empty by the time he got there, and Sherlock and John were the only ones still in the common room. Dean looked around in surprise. He hadn't realised how late it was. 

John was asleep on the big squashy sofa before the fire, but he was whimpering and thrashing. 

'He was disturbing everyone upstairs,' Sherlock explained at Dean's questioning look. 'So we came down here.' 

'And you care why?' Dean said, sitting down on the floor. 

'I don't, but he does,' Sherlock shrugged. He was draped over one of the armchairs, watching John closely. 

'What's he dreaming about?' Dean asked curiously. 

'The Ministry, I think,' Sherlock frowned. 'I can't tell what he dreams of most of the time, they shift around too much, but I recognised it a moment ago.' 

'Why would he dream about the Ministry?' 

'There could be many reasons. My theory is that the Order are protecting something in the Department of Mysteries, but we can't see what it is.' 

'Seems like a solid theory.' 

'Yes, the only thing is, his dreams keep turning pink.' 

'That's… interesting.' 

'I thought so too.' Sherlock frowned at John slightly. 'Did you get anywhere with Castiel? John saw you talking with him.' 

'Of course he did,' Dean said, wondering with embarrassment whether John had also seen him struggling to read, and Sherlock's expression gave nothing away. 'I think I might be. He talked about his mom earlier.' 

Sherlock nodded. 'That makes sense. I believe it's coming up on ten years since the accident. He'll be thinking about her.' 

'Right. Any word on Gabriel yet?' 

'Nothing.' Then Sherlock stiffened. 'He's dreaming about Cas again.'

John groaned loudly and swiped at his own face in his sleep. 

'John, wake up,' Sherlock said, leaning over to shake him by the shoulder. 

John sat up gasping, and grabbing at Dean. 'Did you see his eyes?' he said breathlessly. 'They were so blue.' 

'Yeah, I've seen his eyes,' Dean said slowly. 

'But did you  _ see  _ them?' John swayed, and his speech became slurred. 'I don't - I don't think he's human.' Then he slumped and passed out again. 

'Not human?' Dean said as Sherlock made John comfortable again. 'Could he be right?' 

'It's entirely possible,' Sherlock shrugged. 'He'd hardly be the first person we've met who's only part wizard. Hagrid is half giant. Fleur Delacour is part Veela.' 

'But Cas isn't either of those.' 

'Clearly not.' 

'So… what is he then?' 

'I don't know,' Sherlock admitted. 'He certainly doesn't display any of the physical attributes one might expect, nor any that I've heard of before, and neither do any of his siblings. The power that he has doesn't come from anything that I know about, so that could mean that he's entirely something new, or it's something hidden so far back in his bloodline that no one knows what it is anymore.'

'But if it was in his blood, wouldn't Gabriel and the others be like him?' 

'How do we know they aren't?' Sherlock countered. 'At a guess, I would say that Castiel's anxieties make it more pronounced in him, but we know for certain that all four of them are unusually powerful. They may just be a little more stable than Cas. Or not,' Sherlock added as he thought of Lucy. 

'So, what can we do?' 

'There's nothing we  _ can  _ do, unless Cas decides to share with us what's happening to him.' 

'I guess I'll keep working on it then.' Dean got to his feet, stretching. 'I'm going to bed, see you later.' 

Dean was glad to close his eyes after reading so much, and fell asleep wondering if Cas was okay. 

Dean's question was answered the next morning when, to his surprise, he found Cas at breakfast, saving him a seat. 

'Feeling better today?' Dean asked with a smile. 

Cas nodded. 'Yes, thank you. And I'm a prefect now, I should be at mealtimes.' 

'Is that why you're sitting here and not at the Ravenclaw table?' Dean grinned. 

'Padma has our table covered,' Cas said, turning pink. 

Dean's smile broadened, but as they chatted, he noticed that Cas wasn't eating any breakfast at all. Not completely recovered then. Dean got up to go to Charms, and was amused when Cas came with him. 'You following me?' 

Cas gave him a confused look. 'No. We have Charms together now.' 

'Oh. Well that's good.' 

They sat together in Charms, the class suddenly deciding to forego the usual house split and mixing together. 

Professor Flitwick spent the first fifteen minutes of the class lecturing them on the importance of their upcoming OWLs. 

'What you must remember,' said Professor Flitwick, perching on a pile of books to see over the top of his desk, 'is that these examinations may influence your futures for many years to come. If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I'm afraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure you all do yourselves justice. 

They spent over an hour revising the Summoning Charm, with Professor Flitwick adamant that it would most likely come up on the exam. Cas read the theory out to Dean, under the pretense of reading it to himself. While he listened, Dean Summoned Ron's quill right out of his hand and waved it in the air, laughing. 

Professor Flitwick rounded off the lesson by giving them double the amount of homework they normally had and dismissed them at the bell. 

They were forced to separate afterwards, Dean and the Gryffindors to Transfiguration, and Cas and the Ravenclaws to Potions. 

'I wish you were coming with me to all my classes,' Dean said to Cas before they split up. 

'Yes, that would certainly make things easier with your reading.' 

'Well sure, but also… you'd be there.' 

Cas slowed to a stop. 'Oh…' he said, staring at Dean until John had finished kissing Sherlock goodbye. 'I should go,' Cas said, almost tripping over Sherlock as he turned away. 

'See you later,' Dean called after him. 

'Was that what I thought it was?' John asked, catching up to Dean. 'Were you just flirting with him?' 

Dean laughed. 'Yeah, do you think it's working yet?' 

'I don't know, I think you're just making him flustered.' 

'He's not the best at social interaction,' Dean said, 'but I think I can get through to him.' 

'I don't know why you don't just  _ tell  _ him that you fancy him,' Hermione said from his other side. 

'You can't just tell someone you like them, Hermione, jeez.' 

'Why not?' 

'You just can't, and especially not Cas, but hold on a sec, when did everyone start knowing about this?'

Hermione blushed. 'Well, I'm sorry, but you're not exactly subtle about it.' 

'Does everybody know?' 

'I think most people that know you do.' 

Dean slowed his pace. 'Does Sam know?' 

'I don't know.' 

'This is lame, I didn't even get to have a big coming out announcement.' 

Hermione laughed. 'Perhaps if you weren't so obvious about it. I still think you should tell him.' 

'It's a little more complicated than that, Hermione. He's a sensitive dude. If I just come out with it, he'll think I'm making fun of him or something. I gotta be careful and compliment him just enough that he'll believe it. You know? Really thread that needle,' Dean laughed. 

'Do you usually put this much work into it?' Hermione teased. 

'Well, to tell you the truth, Hermione, it's not usually that hard for me,' Dean winked. 'But I think he's worth it.' 

'How sweet,' Hermione giggled as they walked into the Transfiguration classroom. 

They all took their seats and Professor McGonagall closed the door, then gave much the same speech that Professor Flitwick had given them. 

'You cannot pass an OWL without serious application, practice and study. I see no reason why everyone in this class should not achieve an OWL in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work.' 

Dean bit his lip. He knew his Transfiguration work was good, but he also knew the emphasis on written work for the exam. He couldn't stop thinking about it throughout the lesson when he was supposed to be Vanishing a snail, and as a result, bits of his snail's shell were still visible by the end of the class. 

Professor McGonagall dismissed the class with their homework, which was to practise their Vanishing Charms, but she held Dean back for a moment. 

'Here,' she said, handing him a roll of parchment. 'Mr Edlund explained to me what the two of you were doing, so I've written everything you'll need here, and I'm sure he can help you read it.' 

'Oh,' Dean said, taking it from her in surprise. 'Thank you, Professor.' 

'I'm sure you're already aware that your spell work is exemplary, certainly better than your attempt today,' she said with a small smile. 'I have no doubt you can overcome this, and you have my full support. Now get to your next class, I believe you'll find Care of Magical Creatures a lot easier to get on with.' 

Dean grinned at her. 'You bet. See you later, Professor.' 

Dean hurried outside. Professor McGonagall was right, he did feel more at home outside and with the wildlife. He arrived just as the rest of the class were gathering around a table covered in Bowtruckles, tiny pixie-like creatures made of wood. 

'They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees,' Hermione was saying, likely in answer to a question Professor Grubbly-Plank had asked. 

'Five points for Gryffindor,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank. 'Yes, these are Bowtruckles, and as Miss Granger rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?' 

'Woodlice,' Hermione said promptly. 'But fairy eggs if they can get them.' 

'What are woodlice?' Dean asked John. 

'Oh, er, little grey bugs that curl up when you touch them.' 

'Oh, pillbugs, got it.' 

Professor Grubbly-Plank asked them to draw diagrams of the Bowtruckles, with all the body parts labelled. 

Dean partnered with John, and he quickly appeased the angry Bowtruckle they'd picked with a handful of woodlice. It sat contentedly between them, munching on the bugs, and Dean merrily sketched it. He would label it later, he thought, when Cas could help him with it. When it got bored, it started climbing all over him, exploring his hair with interest. He vaguely wondered where Hagrid was, but when he asked, John just shook his head and said Hagrid was too far away to see. A few metres away, Dean could see Harry glaring at Malfoy and squeezing his Bowtruckle. Dean opened his mouth to tell Harry to loosen his grip, but the Bowtruckle swiped at him, causing Harry to drop it. They all watched it run full tilt back to the Forest. 

When the bell rang across the grounds, they all rolled up their sketches and walked off to Herbology. Harry angrily wrapped his hand in a handkerchief that Hermione gave him. 

'Harry, don't go picking a row with Malfoy, don't forget, he's a prefect now, he could make life difficult for you…' 

'Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life?' Harry said sarcastically. Ron and Dean laughed, but Hermione frowned, and John just stared uneasily at the Forest. 

They arrived at the greenhouses just as the fourth-years were leaving Herbology, including Ginny and Luna. 

When Luna saw Harry, her eyes bulged excitedly and she made a beeline straight for him. She took a great breath, then said, 'I believe He Who Must Not Be Named is back and I believe you fought him and escaped from him.' 

'Er - right,' Harry said awkwardly. 

'You can laugh,' Luna said, her voice rising, apparently under the impression that Parvati and Lavender were laughing at what she said, rather than the odd orange radishes dangling her ears, 'but people used to believe there were no such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.' 

'Well, they were right, weren't they?' Hermione said impatiently. 'There  _ weren't  _ any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.' 

Luna gave her a withering look and flounced away. 

'D'you mind not offending the only people who believe me?' Harry said to Hermione as they went into class. 

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, you can do better than  _ her.  _ Ginny's told me all about her; apparently, she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs  _ The Quibbler _ .' 

'That's a little harsh,' said Dean. 'You ought to read some of the magazines back home. There's  _ way  _ nutter stuff out there.  _ The Quibbler _ 's pretty tame, actually.' 

Then Ernie Macmillan stepped up to Harry. 

'I want you to know, Potter, that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred per cent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I.' 

'Er - thanks very much, Ernie.' 

'Me too,' said Molly Hooper, smiling encouragingly at Harry. 

To no one's surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of OWLs, then split them into groups of three. 

Dean ended up with John and Molly, who introduced herself warmly. 

John was quiet, staring down at the table, until his nose started bleeding. 

'John?' Molly said, waving a hand in front of his face. 

John squeezed his eyes shut and dabbed at his nose with the sleeve of his robes. 

'Are you okay?' Molly asked him. 

'Yeah,' John said thickly. 'Yeah, just the Forest feels weird…' 

Dean glanced at Molly, who looked just as confused as he felt. 'The Forest feels weird? Maybe you gotta get in there. See the centaurs maybe?' 

John shook his head, going pale. 'No… I don't think I should.' He shook his head and forced his attention back to the class as best he could. 

Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay to write, and they all trudged back inside for dinner. Dean didn't bother going back up to Gryffindor tower to drop off his bag, since he and Harry wouldn't have time to eat before their detentions otherwise. 

Cas and Sherlock were already there, Sherlock waiting anxiously for John, and Cas nibbling unenthusiastically on a carrot stick. 

'How was your day?' Dean asked Cas, grabbing food to eat on his way to Umbridge's office. 

Cas shrugged, brow furrowed. 

'We had Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts today,' Sherlock explained. 

'I'm fine,' Cas said stiffly. 

'Of course you are,' said Sherlock. 

'How did  _ you  _ manage to avoid detention with her anyway?' Dean asked, stuffing a roast potato into his mouth. 

'Simple, I kept my mouth shut.' 

'Is that even possible?' 

Cas snorted quietly. 

'All right, wish me luck. Let's hope I don't throw her out the window, or something.' 

'Try not to get yourself expelled,' Sherlock said. 

'Right, 'cause you'd miss me so much.' 

'More than anyone.' 

Dean winked at Cas, and made his way to the third floor with Harry. 

'After you,' Dean said to Harry when they arrived. 

Harry rolled his eyes and knocked on the door. 

'Come in,' Umbridge called in a sugary voice, and they entered cautiously, looking around. 

In the days of Gilderoy Lockhart, the office had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself. When Lupin had occupied it, he would keep some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank, and when the imposter Moody used it, it was stuffed full of various Dark detectors. 

Now, however, it was totally unrecognisable. The surfaces had been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dry flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten wearing a different bow. They were so foul that Dean's mouth twisted, and Harry couldn't stop staring at them. 

'Good evening, Mr Potter, Mr Winchester.'

'Evening, Professor Umbridge,' Harry said sullenly, and Dean didn't respond. 

'I said, good evening, Mr Winchester.' 

Dean blinked and gave her his biggest, sickliest smile. 'Good evening, Professor Umbridge.' 

'Very good. Sit down, both of you.' She indicated at two tables, each with a chair facing away from the other. A piece of blank parchment lay on each table. 

Dean took the one facing the wall, and Harry took the one facing the window. 

'Er, Professor Umbridge,' Harry began, 'before we start, I - I wanted to ask you a… a favour.' 

'Oh, yes?' 

'Well, I'm… I'm in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I'm supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper on Friday, and I was wondering if I could skip detention that night, and do it - do it another night… instead…'

'Oh, no,' said Umbridge. 'Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here tomorrow, and the next day, and Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you.'

There was silence for a moment, and Dean could feel anger radiating from Harry, but Harry said nothing more. 

'There,' Umbridge said sweetly, 'we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you're both going to be doing some lines for me, and you'll be using some special quills of mine. Here you are.' She handed them each a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. 

Dean's stomach flipped. He'd was sure he'd seen one of these before. 

'I want you to write,  _ I must not tell lies,'  _ she told them softly. 

'How many times?' Harry asked. 

'Oh, as long as it takes for the message to  _ sink in _ ,' said Umbridge sweetly. 'Off you go.' 

Dean stared at his parchment, beginning to sweat. If this quill was what he thought it was, then he was in trouble. 

'You haven't given me any ink,' said Harry. 

'Oh, you won't need ink,' said Umbridge, with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice. 

Dean's mouth went dry as he stared down at his parchment, and Harry's gasp of pain confirmed it for him. Umbridge was making them use Black Quills. He held the quill in his hand, but couldn't put it to the parchment. He knew what would happen, that the words he wrote would be carved into the back of his hand, but it wasn't the pain that bothered him. If he made a mistake, it could be visible in his skin forever. He would have to go slowly. 

'Is there a problem, Mr Winchester?' Umbridge asked. 

'Actually, Professor,' Dean said, thinking fast, 'I was just wondering if you could do the first line for me? So I have a good example to follow.' 

Umbridge narrowed her eyes at him, but couldn't find a good enough reason to deny his request, nor work out why he was asking. She waved her wand and the words appeared at the top of the parchment. 

'Thank you, Professor,' Dean said, giving her the same sickly smile he'd given her before. 

It was a small relief having something to copy at least, but it was agonisingly slow going as he mouthed each letter, determined to get them all right. The words cut into his hand as he wrote them on the parchment, shining red with his own blood. It healed over as soon as he finished one line, but then he started another and it made a fresh cut. On it went, over and over, slicing his hand and healing it again. Darkness fell outside Umbridge's office, but they didn't stop. 

'Come here,' Umbridge said, after what seemed like hours. 

Harry and Dean both got their feet and approached her desk. 

'Hands.' 

They extended them and she examined each closely. 

'Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression,' she said, smiling. 'Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go.' She opened the door to let them out, and found Castiel sitting on the floor opposite the door, reading a book. 'Mr Edlund, what are you doing?' 

Cas scrambled to his feet, shoving his book in his bag. 'The other prefects and I thought it would be best if I escorted Harry and Dean back to Gryffindor Tower, so they don't cause any trouble on the way back,' Cas said coolly. 

'Very good. I'm afraid it took rather a while for them to learn their lesson.' 

'That's all right, it gave me time to read the first chapter of your book again. It's very interesting.' 

'Good, good. Goodnight then, boys.' 

'Goodnight, Professor Umbridge,' they said back to her. 

As soon as they were away from her office, Dean turned to Cas. 'Did the prefects really want you to walk us back?'

'No.'

Dean gasped mockingly. 'You lied to a teacher?' 

'I wouldn't call her that,' Cas frowned. 'What did she have you do for your detention?' 

'We had to write lines,' Dean said, resisting the urge to rub the back of his stinging hand. 

'Oh,' Cas said softly, throwing Dean a brief concerned look. 

Harry stalked ahead of them, not really in the mood to talk. 

'So, why did you really come to get us?' Dean whispered to Cas. 

'I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come to Ravenclaw Tower with me. It's empty, so it's a good place to study, since the library is closed.' 

Dean grinned at him. 'Sure.' 

Harry was soon out of sight and Cas took Dean behind the portrait of the silver swan, all the way up to Ravenclaw Tower. 

'Your door is stupid,' Dean said when Cas had to spend a couple minutes working out the riddle the door asked him. 

Cas ignored him and went inside. 

The common room was indeed empty, and it's airiness improved Dean's mood. They sat together in front of the fire, while Cas helped him with his Bowtruckle sketch. 

'This is a lovely drawing, Dean,' Cas said, watching Dean carefully label it. 

'Thanks,' Dean grinned. 

'Dean… You have a Bowtruckle on your head.' 

'Oh.' Dean held out a finger for it and it grabbed on, so he could bring it down. 'Where did you come from? Did you hitch a ride in my bag?' He put it down on the carpet so it could explore, and it climbed up on Cas instead. 

'I think he likes you,' Dean smiled. He watched Cas play with it for a while. 'Midnight trip to the Forest? We should get the little guy home.' Dean was mostly joking, but to his great surprise, Cas nodded. 

'All right.' 

They snuck around the castle together and slipped out of the front door, running across the grounds, exhilarated by their flouting of the rules. 

'Here you go, buddy,' Dean said, kneeling down and putting the Bowtruckle on the ground. It hesitated, looking up at Dean, then ran into the Forest, disappearing into the underbrush. 

Cas, seemingly entranced by the darkness of the trees, took a step towards it, but Dean stopped him. 

'Listen, I'm not usually one to play it safe, but I think it's a little late to go in there,' he said nervously. 'Besides, John said it felt weird earlier, and that's never good.' 

Cas shook his head, snapping out of it, and rubbed his arm. 'It still burns sometimes,' he murmured. 

Dean's own burn scar tingled. 

'Gabriel was supposed to be here. That's why he took the job in Hogsmeade, so he could help me.' 

'Help you with what?' 

Cas bit his lip. He looked as though he so desperately wanted to tell Dean, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he turned away and started walking back to the castle. 

Dean caught up with him. 'Can I ask you a question?' 

'Depends on the question.' 

'You and Sherlock, did you ever…?' 

Cas was so shocked he stopped walking. 'Me and Sherlock?' 

'Yeah, since you're both…' 

Cas wrinkled his nose. 'Sherlock's my friend, but I'm not John, I have taste.' Cas's mouth twitched into an almost smile. 

'Oh really? Do I need to bring up Lockhart?' 

Cas rolled his eyes. 'That was different, I was young.' 

'How  _ did  _ he avoid detention, anyway?' 

Cas smirked. 'I kicked him every time he opened his mouth.' 

They went back to Ravenclaw Tower and Cas insisted Dean stay there for the night, so Dean got himself comfortable on one of the sofas in the common room. 

'I'm a prefect now, and I give you permission to stay.' 

The Ravenclaws gave him confused looks when they all began to leave for breakfast, but he paid them no mind. He was already dressing his second detention with Umbridge, which ended up being just as bad as the first. The cuts on the back of his hand weren't healing as well as they were before, and the back of his hand was red and inflamed within minutes. 

The best part of the day was when Umbridge let them out, and Cas was waiting for them outside. Harry would go back to Gryffindor Tower, but Dean and Cas would go up to Ravenclaw Tower, where they had space to spread out their homework. It was beginning to pile up, but with Cas's patient prompting, Dean managed to get it all done, though he was starting to get sleepy during the day. 

Thursday and passed in a haze of tiredness, and Harry and Dean went to their third detention. This time, after a few hours, the words  _ I must not tell lies,  _ did not fade from the back of their hands, remaining etched in their skin, oozing droplets of blood. 

'Ah,' Umbridge said softly, getting up from her desk to examine their hands. 'Good. That ought to serve as a reminder for you, oughtn't it? You may leave for tonight.' 

'Do I still have to come back tomorrow?' Harry asked. 

'Oh yes,' said Umbridge, smiling widely. 'I think we can etch the message a little deeper with another evening's work.' She let them out again, and Cas was waiting for them. 

Cas was standing there, holding Dean's broomstick, looking confused and upset. 

'Aw, you didn't make the team?' Dean said. 

'No, I - I did,' said Cas. 'I'm the new Ravenclaw Chaser.' 

'What? That's awesome!' 

'Well done,' Harry smiled. 

Dean caught Cas's low mood. 'Why don't you come up to Gryffindor with us? It's kinda cold in Ravenclaw.' 

'All right.' 

They trudged back upstairs and walked right into Ron, who was holding his brand new Cleansweep. 

'What are you doing?' Harry asked in surprise. 

'Nothing,' Ron said hastily. 'What are  _ you  _ doing?' 

'Why do you have your broom?' Dean asked. 'Have you been flying?' 

'I - well - well, okay, I'll tell you, but don't laugh,' Ron said defensively, turning bright red. 'I- I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I've got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh.' 

'I'm not laughing,' said Harry. 'It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I've never seen you play Keeper, are you good?' 

'I'm not bad,' said Ron, looking immensely relieved at Harry's reaction. 'Charlie, Fred and George always made me Keep for them when they were training during the holidays.'

'Do you think you can stop  _ him  _ though?' Dean grinned, gesturing at Cas. 'Ravenclaw tryouts were today, he's the new Chaser.' 

Ron blinked at Cas. 'Yeah,' he said not very confidently. 'Yeah, I reckon I can.' 

'I suppose we'll see,' Cas said quietly. 

'So you've been practising tonight?' Harry asked. 

'Every evening since Tuesday… just on my own. I've been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but it hasn't been easy and I don't know how much use I'll be. Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for tryouts. They haven't stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect.'

'I wish I was going to be there,' said Harry bitterly. 

'Yeah, so do - Harry, what's that on the back of your hand?' 

Harry had just scratched his nose with his cut hand and hastily tried to hide it. 'It's just a cut - it's nothing - it's-' 

But Ron grabbed Harry's forearm and pulled his hand up to eye level. There was a pause while Ron read the words carved into the skin. 

'I thought she was just giving you lines,' Ron said, looking sick. 

'Has she done it to you too?' Cas asked, seizing Dean's wrist before he could respond. He had a surprisingly firm grip. 

'It's fine, Cas,' Dean mumbled, pulling his arm away. 

'She used a Black quill on you,' Cas said, his voice dangerously low. 

Then Ron and Cas began arguing that they should both go to McGonagall or Dumbledore or  _ someone,  _ but they refused. 

'I don't want to make a big deal out of it, I don't want her to deport me,' Dean said. 'I wanna stay here with you.'

Cas gave him a surprised look, apparently under the impression that Dean wasn't particularly bothered whether or not he could stay. Cas then nodded uneasily, and followed them upstairs, holding his arm tightly. 

Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week, and Dean was dragging his feet by the time of their final detention. The blank pieces of parchment and quills were already waiting for them. 

'You know what to do,' Umbridge said, smiling sweetly at them. 

They picked up their quills and Dean heard Harry shifting in his seat, trying to watch the Gryffindor tryouts through the window. 

_ I must not tell lies,  _ Dean wrote. The cut on his hand opened, and he began to bleed afresh. 

_ I must not tell lies.  _ The cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting. 

_ I must not tell lies.  _ Blood trickled down his wrist. 

_ I must not tell lies.  _ The parchment dotted with blood. 

_ I must not tell lies.  _

_ I must not tell lies.  _

The sky darkened, and blood smeared over his searing hand. 

'Let's see if you've got the message yet, shall we?' said Umbridge's soft voice, half an hour after the sun set. 

She moved towards Dean first, stretching out her short, ringed fingers for his arm. He couldn't help but grimace when she jostled his sliced open hand, and she gave a horrible, satisfied smile. Then she grabbed Harry. He gasped and wrenched his arm from her grip. 

'Yes, it hurts, doesn't?' Umbridge said. 'Well, I think I've made my point. You both may go.' 

She let them out for the last time and Harry immediately shot away, almost bowling Cas over as he went. 

Dean walked out slowly, staring at the blood on his hand and wrist. His mind faded and the blood took up all of his vision. The pain flared in his hand, then the ghosts of old wounds stung him as well, shivering down his back and burning his leg. He couldn't move. He didn't have control over his own body, he could only stare. He felt far away and too close at the same time, and Cas's voice came to him from a great distance. 

'Dean… Dean it's all right…' Dean became aware of Cas's hand on his face, and the touch snapped him out of it. He blinked and relaxed his shoulders, while Cas wiped his hand with a cloth. 

'It's just blood,' Dean mumbled, pulling himself together. 

'All right.' Cas picked up his bag. 'Let's go up to Gryffindor. No studying today.' 

'But I'm so behind.' 

'You've been doing so well, you've earned a break, and we have the weekend to catch up.' 

Dean nodded, and they made their way up the staircases. 'You can't heal this?' he asked. 

'I can't, it was made by a cursed object.' 

'Okay.' Dean tried to distract himself. 'Do you want to start working on your Potions this weekend?' 

'I don't know…' 

'Maybe we start with the Draught of Peace,' Dean joked. 'You could probably use some.' 

'I have some, thank you, Dean.' 

'Come on, man, I promised to help you, let me hold up my end of the deal.' 

Cas took a deep breath. 'All right.' 

'Awesome.  _ Mimbulus Mimbletonia.  _

The Fat Lady let them in, and they found a party inside. 

'I made the team!' Ron shouted over to them. 

Sherlock and John were nowhere to be seen, but Hermione had fallen asleep at her usual table, so Dean said Cas sat with her, then Harry extricated himself from his conversation with Angelina Johnson. 

Harry woke Hermione up, and she yawned widely. 'I'm just so tired. I was up until one o'clock making hats for the House-elves. They're disappearing like mad!' 

Dean looked around, and there were indeed several knobbly knitted hats hidden around the room. 

'Great,' Harry said distractedly. 'Listen, I was just up in Umbridge's office, and she touched my arm, and my scar started hurting.' 

Hermione's gaze sharpened. 'You're worried You-Know-Who's controlling her like he controlled Quirrell?' 

'He can do that?' Dean asked. 

'Not anymore, I don't think,' said Hermione. 'He's properly alive now, so he can't really  _ possess _ anyone. He could have her under the Imperius Curse, I suppose… But last year, your scar hurt when no one was touching you, and didn't Dumbledore say it had to do with what he was feeling at the time? Maybe it hasn't got anything to do with Umbridge at all. '

'She's evil. Twisted.' 

'She's horrible, yes, but… Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt.' 

Harry clenched his jaw. 'I'm not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it's not a big deal. It's been hurting on and off all summer - it was just a bit worse tonight, that's all-'

'Harry, I'm sure Dumbledore would  _ want  _ to be bothered by this-' 

'Yeah, that's the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it, my scar?' 

'Don't say that, it's not true!' 

'I think I'll write to Sirius about it, see what he thinks-' 

'Harry, you can't put something like that in a letter!' said Hermione, alarmed. 'Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We can't guarantee owls aren't being intercepted!' 

'All right, all right, I won't tell him!' Harry said irritably. 'I'm going to bed. Tell Ron for me, will you?' 

'Oh no,' said Hermione, looking relieved, 'if you're going that means I can go too, without being rude. I'm absolutely exhausted and I want to make some more hats tomorrow. Listen, you can help me if you like, it's quite fun. I'm getting better, I can do patterns and bobbles and all sorts of things now.' 

'Er… no, I don't think I will, thanks,' said Harry. 'Not tomorrow. I've got loads of homework to do…' He left them, traipsing up to the boys' dormitory. 

'I'd like to learn, Hermione,' Cas said quietly. 

Hermione beamed him, then went up to her own dormitory. 

Cas and Dean were some of the last left in the common room that night.

'Are you all right?' Cas asked Dean, as he settled himself into a soft chair for the night. 

'Sure I am,' Dean smiled. 'G'night.' 

'Goodnight, Dean.' 

Dean carried the sound of Cas's voice with him that night, hoping it would chase away his bad dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to VegasGranny and hhhellcat for the comments!  
> Uuuuh so this one was a bit long sorry, but I hope you enjoyed it. See you again next time!


	13. Percy and Padfoot

Dean woke early again, just after dawn, and decided to walk out in the grounds again. The cuts on the back of his hand still burned and he needed to clear his head. He passed Cas asleep on the sofa on his way out, but judging by the shadows under his eyes, he hadn't been asleep long, so Dean crept through the common room.

It was a crisp morning, just the way Dean liked it, but just as stepped onto the grass, Sherlock and John barged past him, each of them soaking wet.

'What-'

'John, wait!'

Dean turned and saw Sam sprinting towards him. 'What happened?' Dean asked.

Sam stopped to catch his breath. 'I wanted to see if John had water visions and, well, they fell in the lake. Actually, John fell in and Sherlock jumped in to get him.'

'Sounds like an interesting morning already,' Dean laughed.

'Sherlock didn't seem too happy about it,' Sam grimaced. 'I'd better go see if they're okay. See you later.'

Dean walked a lap of the lake, getting his fill of fresh air for the day. He knew that he and Cas would be spending most of their time in the library, so he wanted to have at least a glimpse of nature before they were shut up between the dusty shelves. When he was finished with his walk, he grabbed some toast from the Great Hall and climbed back up the stairs to collect his books. He opened his mouth when he reached the Fat Lady, but the portrait opened and Cas stumbled out. He too pushed past Dean and hurried down the stairs.

'Hey!' Dean called. 'Where are you going?' But Cas ignored him, so Dean followed him as best he could. He ran down several flights of stairs, but Cas disappeared through a corridor, leaving Dean spinning around, trying to figure out where he went. 'Damn it,' he muttered, then ran back up to Gryffindor Tower. He bumped into Harry, who was also on his way out with a letter in his hand. 'Harry, can I use the map?'

'Yeah, go ahead,' Harry shrugged.

'Thanks.' Dean went up to the dormitory and snatched the Marauder's Map from Harry's bedside table.

'It would be lovely if you could get your brother to tone it down a little,' John said from his bed. 'What are you doing?'

'Looking for Cas. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.' He waited impatiently for the map to reveal itself, then raked it for Cas's name, which he found racing across the grounds. 'Where's he going?' He watched Cas run down a passageway and off the edge of the map.

'What's he doing in the Shrieking Shack?' John frowned, peering over Dean's shoulder.

'Is that what that is?'

'Yeah, look, that's where the Whomping Willow would be.'

'I'm gonna go find out. Mischief managed.' The map faded and Dean left it on Harry's bed.

Dean ran all the way back down the stairs, jumping them two at a time, and made his way over to the Whomping Willow. ' _Immobulus!'_ he cried before the tree could take a swipe at him, and dove into the hole at the base of the trunk.

He had to stoop a lot more than he had before, but as he struggled through the passage, he saw a bright white light emanating from the end of it. It was so bright his eyes watered, and by the time he reached the opening, he had to close his eyes.

'Hello?' he called, shading his eyes from the brilliantly shining light. 'Cas, are you in here? What's going on?' Then something slammed into him with a huge force, throwing him into the wall. His arm scraped painfully against the wood and he cracked the back of his head. He fell to the floor, groaning and rubbing his head.

'Dean!' Cas gasped, and the light faded. 'Are you all right?'

Dean groaned again, dazed and dazzled as he tried to sit up.

'Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry.' Cas cupped his face with cool hands to examine him.

Dean rubbed his eyes and Cas's face swam into view. 'What the hell was that?' he asked, sitting up to look at Cas's guilty expression. 'Was that you?'

Cas nodded, kneeling in front of him. 'I'm sorry. You frightened me.'

'So you _do_ have a power!'

Cas looked taken aback. 'I suppose so,' he mumbled.

'Have you always had it? What exactly is it?' Dean said eagerly.

Cas bit his lip. 'It's in my blood, but no, I didn't always have it.’

'What does that mean?'

Cas looked away. 'I'm not - I'm not human, Dean. Not really.'

Dean nodded. 'Then what are you?'

'I…'

Dean shuffled closer. 'You can tell me.'

Cas held his head in his hands. 'There were creatures that lived in the mountains a long time ago. No one remembers their true name, but they inspired the modern idea of.. of angels.'

Dean's eyes grew wide. 'Are you kidding me? That is so cool!'

Cas shook his head, looking ashamed. 'You don't understand. I'm a monster - I'm a _thing.'_

'What are you talking about? You're not a monster, not even close.'

'You don't know that.'

'Sure I do. I know _you.'_

Cas sighed bitterly. 'You don't know anything.'

Dean winced but his curiosity got the better of him. 'What happened to these not angels?'

'Wiped out by the giants. My family is descended from the clan that lived in the Alps, on my mother's side. All gone now, though. It's only through people like me that we know they existed at all.'

'So, are all your family like you?' Dean's brow furrowed at the thought of Lucy having such power.

'Just me,' Cas said in disgust.

'How come?'

'It's dormant until something happens to trigger it. That's what Dumbledore says, anyway.'

'What happened to you?'

Cas rubbed his arm. 'Gabriel was badly hurt,' he mumbled. 'I didn't know what to do, I didn't have my wand, and it just… happened.'

'When?'

'Last year, just before we came back to school.'

Dean watched Cas holding his arm and slowly rocking back and forth. His face was still pinched and scared. 'You've kept this a secret this whole time?'

Cas nodded. 'I don't want anyone to know. I don't want to hurt anyone.'

'So why are you telling me now? You could have said anything when I walked in here.'

Cas looked up at him. 'I need your help,' Cas admitted. 'Gabriel is supposed to help me, and I can't-' A sob cut him off and the air shimmered as Cas glowed in front of him. Cas put a hand over his mouth. 'I can't make it stop.'

'Why do you have to make it stop?'

'It's too strong. I'll hurt someone. Look what I did to you already.'

'This is nothing,' Dean said hastily.

Cas shivered, straining to contain his magic. 'I'm supposed to come here when it's too much, to let it out safely. But it's just getting stronger.'

'Okay, so what do I do? How do I help?'

Cas shuddered. 'Close your eyes and - and hold my hand?'

'You got it.' Dean took Cas's hand and closed his eyes, just as asked, and waited. The light seared his eyes, even though they were closed, and Cas's grip on his hand was iron. Something in the room cracked and something else flew into the wall, and Cas just squeezed Dean's hand ever tighter. The room rumbled, then everything subsided. The light faded again and Cas dropped Dean's hand. It throbbed from how tightly Cas had been holding it.

Dean opened his eyes again just as Cas slumped against the wall. He'd turned a pale shade of green and was trembling. Dean took a moment to look around. The Shrieking Shack now looked a lot different than it had the night they confronted Sirius. The walls and doors had all been repaired, and everything had been cleaned and painted. It now had furniture and potted plants, though the windows were blacked out. It was a much needed improvement, despite the fresh cracks in the walls, and the plant that had smashed on the floor.

'Gabriel thought it might make me feel better if it looked nice in here,' Cas explained.

'Does it?'

'Sometimes.' Cas licked his dry lips and drew out his wand. _'Reparo.'_ The plant wobbled feebly, but made no further move to repair itself, and Cas sighed.

'I got it,' said Dean. ' _Reparo.'_ The plant flew together, good as new, and the cracks in the walls sealed themselves again. 'Does it make you feel like this all the time?'

Cas nodded. 'It's hard to keep it under control.'

'Are you sure you're not an Obscurial?' Dean said, laughing nervously.

'Gabriel was worried,' Cas mumbled, his head lolling, 'but Dumbledore assures me I'm too old to develop an Obscurus. And as long as I keep releasing the magic like this I'll be all right.' Cas slid down the wall, falling to the ground and closing his eyes. 'I'm tired,' he whispered.

'Okay, but don't you wanna rest on that bed over there? Probably more comfortable.'

Cas nodded and weakly pushed himself up.

Dean helped him the rest of the way and sat next to the bed. 'Telekinesis, huh? That's pretty cool, but what's with the glowing?'

Cas rolled onto his back with an arm over his face. 'It's a defence mechanism. The - the creatures used it to blind their enemies and gain the advantage. But it stopped working on the giants when their eyesight diminished. It happens when I get scared. Which is a lot.'

'Did Dumbledore tell you all this?'

'And Gabriel. Mother used to tell him the stories…'

'Ha, I get the angel jokes now.'

Cas smiled at that. 'I wish they were as funny as they used to be.'

'What other cool stuff can you do?' Dean said, encouraged by Cas's smile.

'What do you mean?'

'You can alter spells, right? And you can chuck me across the room. What else can you do?’

Cas looked him up and down and sighed. 'Give me your arm,' he mumbled, holding out his hand.

Dean put his arm in Cas's hand and watched in awe as he glowed again. The scrape on his arm healed completely, the bump on his head disappeared, and the throbbing in his hand faded away. 'That's amazing!' Dean exclaimed, examining his now smooth skin. 'You don't need a wand to heal?'

'No.'

'That's incredible, Cas.'

'No it isn't. I prefer my wand,' Cas scowled.

'And you still can't heal this?' said Dean, holding out the hand that still had _I must not tell lies_ etched on it.

'It was made by a cursed object,' Cas repeated. 'Does it still hurt? I can get you some Murtlap essence.'

Dean shook his head and was quiet for a moment. 'What would happen if you stopped trying to control it so much?'

Cas's lip trembled. 'I don't know,' he said. 'Something bad.'

'How do you know pushing it away isn't making it worse?'

'It's too big a risk not to.' Cas pushed himself up and took a deep breath. 'We should go. We have studying to do.' But Dean held out a hand and stopped him.

'Where do you think you're going?'

'The library?' Cas said, confused.

'Nope, you're staying right here. You're too sick to go back up to the castle.'

Cas rolled his eyes. 'I'm fine. I've been dealing with this a long time.'

'Hey, you asked for my help and you're gonna get it. You stay here and rest, and I'll go get our stuff. We'll study here.'

'But-'

'It'll be good. We can talk at a normal volume here without Madam Pince tearing us a new one. I'll be right back.'

Cas grudgingly lay back down and watched Dean leave.

Dean's mind raced as he made his way through the grounds. He'd tried to prepare himself for it, after all, Sherlock had correctly guessed that Cas had something other than wizard in him, but Dean was still reeling. 'Angels,' he muttered. 'Freaking angels.' He grabbed both his and Cas's bags and stopped off at the kitchens.

'Hey, guys,' he said warmly to the House-elves. 'Me and a friend are planning a long day of studying, so we won't have time to come get lunch. I don't suppose you could-' He didn't even finish his sentence before the elves were packing bags of food for him. 'You guys are the best,' he grinned, levitating the bags.

He had to freeze the Whomping Willow again by the time he got back, and it was a struggle squeezing everything through the passage. Cas was waiting for him, sitting quietly on the bed with a cup of water. He seemed calmer already.

'Where would you like to start today?' Cas asked, unpacking his books.

'Divination,' said Dean, yanking out his dream diary. 'Get it out of the way.'

Cas nodded. 'Why did you take Divination?'

'Easy grade,' Dean shrugged.

'Then why not just take Muggle Studies?'

'Sure, Muggle Studies would have been a cinch, but I wouldn't get that added bonus of making fun of Trelawney,' Dean laughed. 'Besides, I'm actually kinda good at it.'

'Oh?'

'No need to be so surprised, I had to be good at something.'

'I'm not surprised. You're good at a lot of things.'

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. 'These dream diaries are worthless though. My dreams are never about the future.'

'What are they about?'

Dean glanced up at him. He didn't want to talk about it, but Cas had already shown him such trust that day, it was only fair to return the gesture. 'I, uh, mostly dream about stuff that happened when I was a kid. My dad's an Auror, you know, so he used to take Sam and me around with him when he was chasing something. Mostly magical creatures that MACUSA didn't want to deal with. But there were Demons and werewolves and stuff too.'

'That sounds dangerous,' Cas frowned.

'Yeah, it was. Me and Sam got hurt a couple times, so Dad sent us here.'

'You must have been scared.'

'Still am sometimes,' Dean admitted. 'So yeah, that's what my dreams are about. I was just thinking of pulling a Harry and Ron, and just writing a bunch of crap in this thing.'

'Sounds reasonable,' Cas said with a small smile.

Dean wrote slowly, but for the first time felt no pressure to speed up as Cas watched him patiently.

'You really are full of mysteries,' Dean commented, squinting at his parchment. 'Is that it now? You don't have a long lost evil twin I need to worry about, do you?' Dean laughed at his own joke.

'My twin was stillborn,' Cas said flatly.

'Oh. Oh jeez, Cas, I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. I didn't know him.'

Dean shook his head. 'How do you deal with all this stuff?'

'Badly,' Cas frowned, clenching his shaking hands.

'Don't you at least feel a little better getting it out?'

'Not really. I didn't want you to think differently of me.'

'I don't,' Dean reassured. 'I do think it's really freaking cool, but you're still the same old Cas. It doesn't bother me.'

'Thank you, Dean.'

'And our friends would probably be fine with it. They all still hang out with Hagrid.'

Cas's head snapped up. 'You can't tell anyone.'

'I won't, but I think you should.'

'No, I can't. No one can know.' Cas wrapped his arms around himself. 'If Umbridge finds out, I don't know what she would do to me.'

'Do you think she'd hurt you?'

Cas nodded.

'She wouldn't do that.'

'She hurt you,' Cas pointed out. 'She hates part-humans.'

Dean thought about her anti-werewolf laws and the scars on his back itched. 'Okay. You don't have to tell anyone,' he relented.

Cas exhaled and went back to his books. 'If we can finish your History of Magic essay today, we should work on - on Potions tomorrow.'

'Sweet,' Dean grinned.

They only paused briefly for lunch, in which Cas ate a solitary apple, and then spent most of the afternoon on their essays. Cas made Dean stop when he felt the air grow chill.

'The sun's going down,' he said, putting their books away.

Dean nodded, rubbing his tired eyes.

They climbed out from under the Whomping Willow together and Cas stopped to breathe the fresh air in the dimming light.

'Would you like to see me fly?' Cas asked, catching sight of the Quidditch pitch.

'Sure.'

Cas grabbed a Quaffle and Summoned his broom once they were in the stadium. He lifted off the ground and rose gracefully into the air.

Dean watched him soar overheard, spinning through the sky like it was nothing. He looped around and threw the Quaffle through one of the goal hoops, then raced around to catch it on the other side. It was like watching an intricate dance, and it was the most confident and comfortable Dean had ever seen Cas. He had complete control of the broom, but the way he moved made it look as though he didn't need it at all. He leapt to his feet, lightly landing on the broom, and surfed it once around the stadium, never once wobbling or losing his balance. When he was finished, he held the broom upright, balancing one foot on the stirrup and floated back down to Dean.

'You're good at that,' Dean said, cheeks warming.

'Thank you,' Cas smiled. 'Would you like to try?'

'Oh, no way. Nope,' Dean said, backing away.

'If you're going to make me confront my fears, it's only fair you do the same.'

Dean groaned. 'Fine,' he grumbled. He took the broom from Cas and reluctantly mounted it. He lifted off with a lurch and a surprised grunt, and hovered a few inches off the ground. 'Okay, that's not so bad.'

Cas sat sideways on the broom behind him, and encouraged the broom higher.

Dean inhaled sharply and gripped the handle.

'It's all right, I've got you,' Cas said, one hand on Dean's back. 'Why don't you try steering?'

Dean nodded. 'Okay, how do I do that?' he said breathlessly, his heart thumping against his ribcage.

'With your knees. Be gentle, it's very intuitive. Try taking us towards the goal posts.'

Dean tried to nudge the broom, but it careened sideways, then stopped abruptly, and Dean yelped.

'Don't panic,' Cas said gently. 'I have control of the broom. Try again.'

Dean swallowed and nudged the broom again. This time it tilted and zoomed towards the goal posts. Dean slowed to a stop before the middle one.

'Well done, Dean.'

'That was great. Can we go down now?'

'Of course. Push the handle down with your hands.' Cas wrapped one arm around Dean's waist, flustering him so badly his hand slipped, and the broom dove sharply. Cas pushed down on the tail and levelled them out, slowing them down before they hit the ground.

Dean dismounted and stumbled away. He doubled over, hands on his shaking knees. 'Whew, that was high,' he puffed. 'Kinda lame you had to do it for me, though.'

'It's not lame,' Cas said, putting the Quaffle away and Banishing the broom back to his dormitory. 'I think it's endearing.'

Dean nearly tripped over again.

'We should go back to the castle,' Cas said, not appearing to notice. 'I'm quite tired.'

'Where are you staying tonight?'

'The hospital wing. I want to organise the supply cabinet before I go to sleep.'

'Sounds… fun. Where did you learn to fly like that anyway?' Dean asked as they walked away from the stadium.

'I didn't. It's mostly instinct, I suppose.'

'Wow. You just keep getting cooler.'

'I don't know if "cool" is the word I'd use to describe myself,' Cas chuckled.

Dean sniggered. 'So, this flying instinct… did the creatures fly?'

'Hush, Dean,' Cas hissed, looking around nervously. 'Yes they did. They had wings.'

'But you don't, I take it? Not hiding anything under your robes, are you?'

Cas rubbed his arm. 'No, I don't have wings. Please stop talking about it now.'

'Sorry,' said Dean, climbing up the steps to the Entrance Hall. 'Meet you for breakfast tomorrow?'

Cas nodded distractedly and wandered off to the hospital wing.

Dean made his way up to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was almost empty, except for John, Sherlock and Hermione.

'Is Cas coming?' Hermione asked. 'I was going to teach him to knit.'

'Nah,' said Dean, throwing himself down in front of the fire. 'He had some super important organising to do in the hospital wing.'

'Did you find out anything?' Sherlock asked in interest.

Dean avoided his eyes. 'I did,' he said evasively.

'What did he say?'

'I can't tell you.'

Sherlock groaned dramatically.

'He's not sick or anything,' Dean said hastily. 'But he doesn't want me to tell anyone.'

John nodded, but Sherlock flopped back in his seat looking stormy.

'Sorry, man,' Dean laughed. 'He'll tell you when he's ready. Probably.'

  
  


Dean slept fitfully that night, taking a long time to fall asleep at all, and waking at a sharp cry from John in the early hours of the morning. He heard Sherlock shushing him quietly, and John muttering about a snake.

'It was Nagini, I'm sure it was.'

'But what would she be doing in the Ministry? How would she even get in?'

'I don't know, I thought it was your job to work it out,' John grumbled. 'Should we tell Dumbledore?'

'Tell him what? That you saw a pink snake that may or may not have been Nagini, but you can't tell because it was _pink?'_

'You're being bloody useless, do you know that?'

'Guys, can you take your tiff somewhere else?' said Dean. 'Some of us are trying to sleep.'

'Sorry,' John muttered.

Dean turned over and tried to go back to sleep, but his mind was awake and racing again. How much did he really know about Cas, if he could keep such a secret? No wonder Cas was so terrified all the time, he must have seen the reaction Hagrid got when his parentage had been revealed. Dean was glad that Cas finally trusted him enough to share this part of himself, but the more Dean thought about, the more he knew Cas still had more to hide. His work wasn't done yet.

Dean hauled his cauldron downstairs with him, and Cas waited while he ate a bacon sandwich for breakfast. When Dean was finished eating, they left the Great Hall, and Cas turned towards the dungeons, but stopped when he noticed Dean going the opposite way.

'Where are you going?' Cas asked, confused.

'Outside, come on,' Dean smiled, slowing slightly so Cas could catch up.

Dean chose a spot nearby Hagrid's hut and used his wand to clear a patch of grass away. He set up the cauldron and had Cas sit in front of it.

'Why are we out here?' Cas asked.

'The dungeons make me nervous,' Dean said, and Cas raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. 'I thought it might be nice to practice out in the air.'

'If you say so,' Cas said, warily watching him set a fire under the cauldron. 'How should we start?'

'We'll start with… What's your favourite potion to make?'

Cas shrugged, and Dean nudged him.

'Come on, man, I know you've got a favourite,' Dean smirked.

Cas gave him a small smile. 'I like the Pepperup Potion.'

'Oh yeah, your one makes people's ears steam,' Dean grinned. 'Is it supposed to do that?'

'It was an accident at first, but now I find it quite amusing.'

Dean laughed loudly. 'I knew it! All right, let's do that first.'

'But I already know how to make it.'

'I know you do, but you're so smart you could make any potion you want. We just have to get you more comfortable with the actual making part. We'll do the ones you like first and get a good base to work from.'

'That sounds reasonable,' Cas said and he got to work.

Dean watched him closely. He had no trouble at all grinding up the Bicorn horn, but he was careful with the Mandrake root, chopping it slowly. He hesitated with everything he put in the cauldron, waiting just a fraction of a second too long each time. Not much of a problem with a simple potion like this, but it would make all the difference in the potions they would have to brew for their OWL.

Once Cas was finished, Dean had him brew up a Cure for Boils. This time he chatted amiably with Cas, distracting him from his fear.

'Now that is one perfect Cure for Boils,' Dean grinned, bottling some of it up. 'That's going right to Madam Pomfrey.'

Cas smiled weakly.

'Okay, how are you doing? You think you can do another one?'

'I think so.'

Dean dug through the bag of ingredients he'd brought out. 'Looks like we can do… Common Poisons Antidote. I've got a nice Bezoar you can crush up.'

Cas bit his lip but nodded and got to work as soon as Dean cleared the cauldron. His hands started shaking while he was grinding the Bezoar into powder, and he shuffled away from the cauldron when he had to increase the heat. He waved his wand over it and sat back to wait for it to brew.

'You're doing great,' Dean said, watching Cas's discomfort. 'Can you finish this one, or do you wanna stop?'

'I can do it,' Cas said, taking some deep breaths.

'How are you about yesterday?' Dean asked while they waited. 'I'm betting it was pretty tough for you.'

'I don't want to talk about it,' Cas said stiffly. 'I don't like it.'

'There's gotta be something you like about it.'

Cas thought about it, looking around to make sure no one was listening. 'I- I like that I can use it to help you.'

'Me? In what way?'

'The spells I use to help you read. Sherlock created them, but I can alter them and refine them for you.'

'Well, that's sweet of you,' Dean grinned.

Cas finished the potion and lay back on the grass. 'Do you really think I can do this?'

'For sure!' Dean said enthusiastically. 'How many times do you want me to tell you how smart you are?'

Cas smiled at him. 'We should write our Potions essays this afternoon.'

'Awesome,' said Dean, with only a hint of sarcasm.

They took a break for lunch, then trudged to the library to write their essays. Dean did his best to tackle it while Cas wrote his, but only managed a quarter of it by the time Cas had finished his.

'Don't be frustrated,' Cas said. 'You're already improving, just take it at your own pace.'

But Dean stalled a couple of hours in. He couldn't focus on the words anymore.

'Let's take a break. We'll finish after dinner,' said Cas.

'Only if you have a real dinner, you didn't eat anything at lunch,' Dean said, rolling his parchment up miserably.

'I'm sure I can manage that,' Cas said, though looking slightly surprised that Dean noticed what he did and didn't eat.

Harry and Ron sat nearby at dinner looking bored and tired, having left almost all of their homework for the weekend. They drew out their meal as much as possible before trudging back up to the common room.

Dean had long since finished his dinner, while Cas had barely touched his, slowly eating small mouthfuls. 'Is that all you're gonna eat, mashed potatoes?'

'There are peas here too,' Cas said defensively.

Dean leaned closer to him and lowered his voice. 'Is this part of your - _thing?_ Do you not need to eat?'

Cas dropped his fork and shoved his bowl away. 'Dean, _please,'_ he hissed. 'Not now. Let's go and finish your essay.' He walked away from the table and Dean scrambled to follow him.

'I know you have questions,' Cas whispered as they approached the library, 'but I really don't want to talk about it.'

'I'm sorry, I got carried away.'

'It's all right. And I do need to eat, I just don't have much of an appetite.'

Dean nodded and found them a table deep in the library, so they wouldn't be disturbed. He got back to work on his essay, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't focus on it any longer.

'I think that's enough, Dean,' Cas said eventually.

'Hold on, it's not finished.'

Cas gently pulled the parchment away from him. 'I'll finish it for you.'

'Really?' Dean said, looking up at him, eyes fuzzy.

'You've been working hard, but you can't force it. We'll bring it upstairs and I'll finish it there.'

Dean sighed deeply and stretched. 'You're the best.'

'Hardly,' Cas muttered, rolling up Dean's essay.

  
  


Harry and Ron were still working when they came back up, but Hermione now seemed to be helping, and Cas settled at the table with them. Dean sat on the sofa with Sherlock and John, who both appeared to be sleeping soundly for once. Dean too allowed himself to doze off for a few minutes, to the sound of scratching quills. Hermione and Ron's voices eventually brought him round again.

'Hermione, you're honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met. If I'm ever rude to you again-'

'-I'll know you're back to normal,' said Hermione. 'Harry, yours is okay except for this bit at the end, I think you misheard Professor Sinistra, Europa's covered in ice, not mice - Harry?'

Dean opened his eyes enough to see Harry slide off his chair onto the floor and stare at the fire.

'Er - Harry, why are you down there?' Ron said uncertainly.

'Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire.'

Dean sat up.

'Sirius's head?' said Hermione. 'You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too- _Sirius!'_

She gasped, gazing at the fire, Ron dropped his quill, and the commotion woke John and Sherlock. There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius's head, long dark hair falling around his grinning face.

'I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else,' Sirius said. 'I've been checking every hour.'

'You've been popping into the fire every hour?' said Harry, half laughing.

'Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear.'

'But what if you'd been seen?' Hermione said anxiously.

'Well, I think a girl - first-year, by the look of her - might've got a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry, I was gone the moment she looked back at me.'

'But, Sirius, this is taking an awful risk-'

'This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to code - and codes are breakable.'

'You didn't say you'd written to Sirius!' Hermione said accusingly.

'I forgot,' said Harry.

'Bump into Cho, did you?' John smirked, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

Harry blushed. 'Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?'

'No, it was very good,' Sirius smiled. 'Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed - your scar.'

'What about -?' Ron began, but Hermione interrupted him.

'We'll tell you afterwards. Go on, Sirius.'

'Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think it's anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?'

'Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion,' said Harry. 'So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention.'

'Now he's back, it's bound to hurt more often.'

'So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me?'

'I doubt it,' said Sirius. 'I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater-'

'She's foul enough to be one,' Harry said darkly.

'Yeah, no kidding,' Dean added.

'Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters,' Sirius said wryly. 'I know she's a nasty piece of work - you should hear Remus talk about her since she drafted that anti-werewolf legislation. It makes it almost impossible for him to get a job.'

Dean scowled.

'What's she got against werewolves?' Hermione said angrily.

'Scared of them, I expect. She loathes part-humans.'

Cas twitched and stared at the rug on the floor.

'She campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople with toerags like Kreacher on the loose.'

Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset.

'Sirius!' she said reproachfully. 'Honestly, if you made a bit more of an effort with Kreacher-'

'So, what're Umbridge's lessons like?' Sirius interrupted. 'Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?'

'No,' said Harry, ignoring Hermione's affronted look at being cut off. 'She's not letting us use magic at all!'

'All we do is read the stupid textbook!' said Ron.

'Ah, well, that figures,' said Sirius. 'Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat.'

' _Trained in combat!'_ Harry said incredulously.

'Ha, too late,' Dean snorted.

'What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?'

'That's exactly what he thinks you're doing,' said Sirius, 'or rather, that's what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing - forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic.'

Sherlock laughed loudly.

'That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff Luna Lovegood comes out with,' said Ron.

'So, we're being prevented from learning Defence Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?' said Hermione, looking furious.

'Yep,' said Sirius. 'Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more and more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day.'

'The poor man doesn't even realise that it's Mycroft he should be worried about,' Sherlock laughed.

'It's only a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped up charges.'

'D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow?' Harry asked. 'Percy reckons there will be-'

'I don't know,' said Sirius, 'I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy.'

'I can't see what it says, but it feels like bad news,' John said, squinting into the distance. 'Something to look forward to.'

'Have you heard anything about Hagrid?' Harry asked.

'Ah… well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him. But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you lot get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine.'

'But if he was supposed to be back by now…' said Hermione in a small, anxious voice.

'Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home - but there's he's hurt or - well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly okay.’

John rubbed his temples. 'I think he's… In France? Maybe? He's too far away for me to see.’

'Well that's something at least. Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid, it'll just draw attention to the fact that he's not back. Hagrid's tough, he'll be okay.' When this didn't cheer them up, he changed tact. 'When's your next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could-'

'NO!' Harry and Hermione said together.

'Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform. If you come up here and Malfoy recognises you again-'

'All right, all right, I've got the point,' said Sirius. He looked most displeased. 'Just an idea, thought you might like to get together.'

'I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!'

'You're less like your father than I thought,' Sirius said, a definite coolness in his voice. 'The risk would have been what made it fun for James.'

'Sirius-'

'Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs. I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?'

There was a _pop_ and Sirius's head disappeared.

Harry shoved his homework away and stormed off to bed, quickly followed by Ron. Hermione sighed and shrugged, then set about hiding her elf hats around the room.

Cas rolled up Dean's essay and got to his feet. 'Here.'

Dean took the roll of parchment. 'Thanks. I really appreciate it. Are you staying here?'

Cas shook his head. 'Our dormitory will be quiet. Goodnight.'

'Yeah, see you tomorrow,' Dean said, then watched Cas exit through the portrait hole.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to OtakuElf, VegasGranny, hhhellcat, SolangeloNeverDies and Novak26 for the comments!  
> Sorry for the long wait, I've just been taking some time off, but hopefully won't be as long until the next one! Oh, and we've officially passed the half way point! Thanks for reading, and I'll see you again next time!


	14. The Hogwarts High Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *On hiatus until I get new glasses. My dog munched on them and now I can't read my own notes*

Cas wasn't at breakfast the next morning, and Dean was almost glad of it when he saw the headline on that morning's _Daily Prophet._

  
  


_MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM_

_DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST EVER HIGH INQUISITOR_

  
  


'What's that supposed to mean?' Harry said.

Hermione read aloud the article.

_'In a surprise move last night the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation giving itself unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_' "The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time," said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. "He is now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they don't approve of."_

_'This is not the first time in recent weeks that the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, has used new laws to effect improvements at the wizarding school. As recently as 30th August, Educational Decree Number Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current Headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person._

_'"That's how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to teaching staff at Hogwarts," said Weasley last night. "Dumbledore couldn't find anyone so the Minister put Umbridge in, and of course, she's been an immediate success-"'_

  
  


'She's been a WHAT?' Harry said loudly.

'Wait, there's more,' said Hermione.

  
  


_'"- an immediate success, totally revolutionising the teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts."_

_'It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalised with the passing of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, which creates the new position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor._

_'"This is an exciting new phase in the Minister's plan to get to grips with what some are calling the_ falling standards _at Hogwarts," said Weasley. "The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post and we are delighted to say that she has accepted."_

_'The Ministry's new moves have received enthusiastic support from parents of students at Hogwarts._

_'"I feel much easier in my mind now that I know Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation, ' said Mr Lucius Malfoy, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. "Many of us with our children's best interests at heart have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and are glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation."_

_'Among those_ eccentric decisions _are undoubtedly the controversial staff appointments previously described in this newspaper, which have included the employment of werewolf Remus Lupin, half-giant Rubeus Hagrid and delusional ex-Auror, "Mad-Eye" Moody._

_'Rumours abound, of course, that Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, is no longer up to the task of managing the prestigious school of Hogwarts._

_' "I think the appointment of the Inquisitor is a first step towards ensuring that Hogwarts has a headmaster in whom we can all repose our confidence," said a Ministry insider last night._

_'Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden have resigned in protest at the introduction of the post of Inquisitor to Hogwarts._

_'" Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge's office,' said Madam Marchbanks. "This is a further, disgusting attempt to discredit Albus Dumbledore."_

_'(For a full account of Madam Marchbanks's alleged links to subversive goblin groups, turn to page seventeen)'_

  
  


'Did Mycroft know about this?' John asked Sherlock, aghast.

Sherlock shook his head and got up. 'I need to send him an owl. I'll be right back.'

'Use a school owl,' John called after him.

'I can't believe this,' Hermione fumed. 'It's _outrageous.'_

Dean ground his teeth, but Ron's face broke into a grin.

'Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected,' Ron said happily. 'Umbridge won't know what's hit her.'

'Well, come on,' Hermione said, jumping up, 'we'd better get going, if she's inspecting Binns's class we don't want to be late.'

They all got to their feet, and Dean grabbed John before they all went upstairs.

'Hey, is Cas in the castle?'

'Erm…' John blinked rapidly, grabbing hold of Dean. 'No, he isn't.'

Dean nodded and paused in the Entrance Hall, caught between wanting to go down to the Shrieking Shack and keeping his promise to Cas. The promise won out and he headed up to History of Magic.

Professor Umbridge was not inspecting their lesson, nor was she in Snape's dungeon when they arrived for double Potions. Dean's moonstone essay was handed back to him with a large, spiky 'A' written in the corner. Dean was pleasantly surprised, but he knew he'd scraped the pass only by what Cas had written in it.

Snape wrote the instructions for a Strengthening Solution on the blackboard, but Dean couldn't read it, so he dug his Potions textbook out of his bag. Cas had already charmed it for him so he could read it, but it was still difficult without Cas to help him. His potion wasn't the clear shade of turquoise it was supposed to be by the time he was finished with it, but at least it was blue rather than pink, like Neville's was.

Dean stopped John again on their way to lunch to ask if Cas was back yet. John shook his head no, so Dean grabbed as much food as he could carry before hurrying down to the Whomping Willow.

'Cas?' he called out when he entered the Shrieking Shack. There was no dazzling white light, but some of the plants were smashed again, and a chair had fallen to pieces. Dean walked through the house, repairing everything as he went, and found Cas fast asleep on the bed. Dean knelt down beside him and gently shook his shoulder.

Cas started violently awake, and the bed frame cracked.

'It's okay, it's just me,' Dean said soothingly.

Cas looked around dazed. 'What - what time is it?' he croaked, rubbing his face.

'It's lunch,' Dean said, holding up the food he brought.

Cas stared at him for a moment, confused. 'But I - lunch?'

'That's right.'

Cas groaned loudly. 'That wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to go to Dark Arts. She's going to be angry at me.'

'Don't you have a note? I thought all the teachers knew you had to leave class sometimes.'

'I asked Madam Pomfrey not to tell her. I didn't want to give her any reason to suspect me.'

Dean bit his lip. 'So Madam Pomfrey knows about this?'

'Of course she does.'

'Okay, well why don't you get her to give you a note just saying you were sick today? It doesn't have to say why.'

Cas nodded and sat up, and Dean began sorting through the food.

'You want one of these? I don't know what they call these, but they're good.'

'Scotch eggs,' Cas told him. 'No, thank you.'

Dean offered snack after snack, but Cas rejected all of them, until Dean insisted he eat one thing. He took a few crackers and nibbled on them. Once he was sure Cas was calm, Dean elbowed him playfully. 'You were supposed to tell me if you needed me.'

Cas smiled. 'I didn't have time to come and get you. It can be very sudden sometimes.'

'Next time you should tell Sherlock you need me. He can tell John, and I can meet you here.'

Cas shook his head. 'Sherlock will ask questions.'

'So tell him to shove it,' Dean grinned. 'But, you know, I'm sure Sherlock can keep a secret. From what I hear, he kept the whole Seer thing a secret from John for a really long time, which is impressive, given that whole connection deal they have.'

Cas shrugged noncommittally.

'I'm not trying to pressure you, I just think it would be a good idea. Share the load, you know?'

'I appreciate your concern. We should get back.' Cas ate one more cracker and got to his feet, leading the way back up to the castle, repairing the bed frame on his way out.

'Let's study in the hospital wing after class today,' Dean said. 'I've got Divination and Dark Arts this afternoon, so it'll be nice to talk properly.'

'Fine by me.'

'See you later, then.'

Dean hurried away up to Divination and sat in his usual seat next to John. He was just pulling out his dream diary, when the cheery chatting that filled the room suddenly fell silent. He looked up and saw Umbridge climbing up through the trapdoor.

'Good morning, Professor Trelawney,' said Umbridge, with her wide smile. 'You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?'

Trelawney nodded curtly and turned her back on Umbridge to hand out copies of _The Dream Oracle._

Still smiling, Umbridge grasped the back of an armchair and pulled it to the front of the class, so that it was a few inches behind Trelawney's seat. She sat down, took a clipboard out of her bag and looked up expectantly, waiting for the class to begin.

Trelawney pulled her shawls about herself and surveyed the class.

'We shall be continuing our study of prophetic dreams today. Divide into pairs, please, and interpret each other's latest night-time visions with the aid of the _Oracle.'_

She made as though to sweep back to her chair, saw Umbridge sitting right beside it, and veered left towards Parvati and Lavender.

John flipped his book open but paid it no mind, watching Umbridge make notes instead, his eye twitching. Dean too opened his book, but Cas hadn't charmed this one for him, and its particularly curly font was too difficult for him to read.

'You have any good dreams lately?' Dean asked John.

'Not especially,' John shrugged. 'I keep dreaming about the Forest. I think something is going on with the centaurs, but I think I should stay away for now.'

'Yeah, centaur politics doesn't sound like something you want to get involved in.'

John nodded, absently turning a page as he watched Umbridge get up and follow Trelawney around.

'Now, you've been in this post how long exactly?' they heard Umbridge ask.

'Nearly sixteen years.'

'Quite a period,' said Umbridge, making a note on her clipboard. 'So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?'

'That's right,' Trelawney said shortly.

Umbridge made another note. 'And you are the great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?'

'Yes,' said Trelawney, holding her head a little higher.

'But I think - correct me if I am mistaken - that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?'

'These things often skip - er - three generations,' said Trelawney.

Umbridge's toadlike smile widened. 'Of course,' she said sweetly, making yet another note. 'Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?'

Trelawney stiffened, as though unable to believe her ears. 'I don't understand you,' she said.

'I'd like you to make a prediction for me,' Umbridge said clearly.

Trelawney drew herself up to her full height, her beads and bangles clinking. 'The Inner Eye does not See upon command!' she said in scandalised tones.

'I see,' said Umbridge softly, making another note on her clipboard.

'I - but - but… _wait!'_ said Trelawney suddenly, in an attempt at her usual ethereal voice, though the mystical effect was ruined somewhat by the way it was shaking with anger. 'I… I think I _do_ see something… something that concerns _you…_ why, I sense something… something _dark…_ some grave peril…' Trelawney pointed a shaking finger at Umbridge who continued to smile blandly, eyebrows raised. 'I am afraid… I am afraid that you are in grave danger!' Trelawney finished dramatically.

There was a pause. Umbridge's eyebrows were still raised.

'Right,' she said, scribbling on her clipboard once more. 'Well, if that's really the best you can do…'

'She's right,' John blurted out, causing everyone in the room to turn and stare at him. 'I'd be careful if I were you.'

Umbridge's gaze turned chilly. 'Is that a threat?'

'It's a warning.'

'Detention, Mr Watson. You will come to my office after class today.'

John only narrowed his eyes in response, and Umbridge turned away.

Trelawney spent the remainder of the lesson predicting that each and every one of Harry's dreams surely meant that he would die a gruesome and early death, and John watched Umbridge the entire time, though by his gaze, he seemed to be looking _through_ her rather than _at_ her. When the bell rang, Umbridge descended the silver ladder and John rubbed his eyes.

'Her threads are ugly,' John muttered, packing his bag up. 'Bright pink, some of them.'

'Right,' said Dean, bemused.

John was still frowning in disgust when they arrived at Defence Against the Dark Arts and were taking out their copies of _Defensive Magical Theory._

Dean swallowed as he opened it. Cas had charmed this one as well, but its small font and blocky paragraphs were still intimidating.

'Wands away,' Umbridge instructed, and those people who had been hopeful enough to take them out sadly returned them to their bags. 'As we finished Chapter One last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence "Chapter Two, Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation". There will be no need to talk.'

Dean read agonisingly slowly, taking frequent breaks, until he noticed that Hermione once again had her hand in the air.

'What is it this time, Miss Granger?' Umbridge asked.

'I've already read Chapter Two,' said Hermione.

'Well then, proceed to Chapter Three.'

'I've read that too. I've read the whole book.'

Umbridge blinked but recovered her poise almost instantly. 'Well, then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counter-jinxes in Chapter Fifteen.'

'He says that counter-jinxes are improperly named,' Hermione said promptly. 'He says "counter-jinx" is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable.

Umbridge her eyebrows, impressed against her will, and Dean hid a smirk behind his book.

'But I disagree,' Hermione continued.

Umbridge's eyebrows rose a little higher and her gaze became distinctly colder. 'You disagree?'

'Yes, I do,' said Hermione, in a clear, carrying voice. 'Mr Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively.'

'Oh, you do, do you?' said Umbridge. ‘I’m afraid it is Mr Slinkhard’s opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger.’

‘But-’

‘That is enough,’ said Umbridge. ‘Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor house.’

‘What for?’ Harry burst out angrily, and Hermione kicked him under the desk.

‘For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions,’ Umbridge said smoothly. ‘I am here to teach you Ministry-approved methods that do not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little.Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more licence, but as none of them - with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects - would have passed a Ministry inspection-’

‘Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher,’ Harry said loudly, ‘there was just the minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head.’

This was followed by the loudest silence, then-

‘I think another week’s detentions would do you some good, Mr Potter,’ Umbridge said sleekly.

Dean started. He’d heard the stories about Professor Quirrell, of course, but it had all seemed so distant and unconnected to him at the time. Hearing it again now that he personally knew everyone involved was like a slap in the face.

The class was tense and silent for the rest of the lesson, and they all hurried out of the door, except John, who trudged after Umbridge to her office. He was followed at a distance by Sherlock, who did not make himself known to Umbridge.

Dean picked up food from the Great Hall again and hurried up to the hospital wing. Cas was already there, sitting with his legs crossed on the furthest bed from the door, bent over a book and a piece of parchment. Before Dean reached Cas, he could tell from the tension in Cas’s shoulders and the tightness in his mouth that he was in a terrible mood.

‘Hey,’ Dean smiled, sitting on the bed opposite him. ‘Sandwich?’ He passed one over and Cas took it, but he just held it in his hand without looking at Dean. ‘What are you working on?’

‘Ancient Runes,’ Cas muttered. He appeared to be struggling with a particular sentence.

Dean peered over at it. ‘No wonder you’re stuck. You’re looking at the wrong Syllabary. These are Enochian, not regular runes.’

Cas finally looked up at him, surprised, then back down at his parchment. ‘You’re right,’ he said, picking up the correct book instead. ‘Can you read them?’ he asked curiously.

‘Not really, but I recognised some of the sigils. Demons use them sometimes, to leave threats and stuff.’

‘Oh.’ Cas gave him a guilty look and put down his quill. ‘I don’t really feel like studying today.’

Dean nodded, slightly alarmed. 'Okay, what do you wanna do? I'll come watch you fly, if you want.'

'All right.' Cas got to his feet, leaving his bag and books on the bed.

Cas was silent as they left the castle, but his fists were clenched tightly.

'What's wrong?' Dean chanced eventually, eyeing the Quidditch pitch as Cas walked right past it.

Cas just shrugged.

'Bad day, huh?'

'I suppose so,' Cas sighed, slowing as they approached a garden plot nearby Hagrid's house. 'Gabriel planted this with me,' Cas muttered, brushing the leaves of a small apple tree.

Dean grimaced.

Cas's fist closed around one of the slim branches and he tore it off, tossing it away.

'Cas…'

'How could he leave me like this?' Cas snapped off another branch and hurled it at the Forest treeline. 'It's not fair.' Cas suddenly stormed towards the Forest and Dean chased after him.

'Where are you going?' Dean asked.

'I don't want to be here.'

'I don't think you wanna be in there, either, man.' Dean resisted the urge to reach out and grab Cas. He'd never seen Cas this angry before. It was usually his fears that he lost control of, otherwise he was level-headed most of the time.

'Why not?' Cas said, not changing trajectory at all. 'John and Sherlock go in all the time.'

'Yeah but something's going on, John won't even go in now.'

'Maybe it's where I belong, with all the other creatures.'

'We've been over this, Cas.'

They reached the edge of the Forest and Cas whirled around to face him. 'Why else would Gabriel leave?'

'I don't know, Cas,' Dean said sadly.

Cas's eyes blazed blue and he punched a nearby tree. The trunk splintered and the shockwave sent Dean sprawling. Cas watched the tree crack and collapse, crashing to the ground. 'Do you still think I'm not dangerous?' Cas said as Dean scrambled to his feet.

'Yep,' Dean said. 'If you were dangerous, you would have hit me instead of that tree.'

Cas looked aghast. 'I would never hit you.'

'Exactly.' Dean brushed himself down.

Cas's fists clenched again. 'This is all ridiculous. I shouldn't be here. Not now that Gabriel can't stop me. None of you should be near me.' Cas walked off. 'Don't follow me, Dean.'

Dean scuffed his toes in the grass, watching Cas's retreating figure. He peered into the Forest once Cas was gone. It seemed a lot more foreboding now that even John wouldn't go near it.

  
  


Cas reappeared at breakfast the next morning and sat next to Dean.

'I want to apologise for yesterday,' he said quietly. 'I don't know why I was so angry.'

'Don't sweat it. It's okay to be angry sometimes. I don't blame you for it.'

Cas nodded and picked up a bunch of grapes to eat, without Dean's prompting, though he dropped it when Angelina Johnson shouted at Harry for once again getting detention with Umbridge.

Dean was able to cheer him up during Charms and went to Transfiguration afterwards with a smile on his face. He sat down in his seat, and his smile widened. Umbridge was sitting in the corner behind Professor McGonagall's desk.

'Excellent,' Ron whispered. 'Let's see her get what she deserves.'

Professor McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Umbridge was there.

'That will do,' she said and silence fell immediately. 'Mr Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework - Miss Brown, please take this box of mice - don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you - and hand one to each student -'

' _Hem, hem,'_ said Umbridge, employing the same silly cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Seamus handed Dean back his essay, and he frowned at the small 'P' in the corner.

'Right then, everyone listen closely - Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again, I shall put you in detention - most of you have successfully Vanished your snails and even those of you who were left with a certain amount of shell have got the gist of the spell. Today, we shall be-'

' _Hem, hem,'_ said Umbridge.

' _Yes?'_ said Professor McGonagall, turning around.

'I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec-'

'Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you were doing in my classroom,' said Professor McGonagall, turning her back firmly on Umbridge. 'As I was saying: today, we shall be practising the altogether more difficult Vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell-'

' _Hem, hem.'_

'I wonder,' said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Umbridge, 'how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk while I am talking.'

Umbridge looked as though she had been slapped in the face. She did not speak, but began scribbling furiously on her parchment.

Looking supremely unconcerned, Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more.

'As I was saying: the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be Vanished. The snail, as an invertebrate, does not present much of a challenge; the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater one. This is, therefore, magic you cannot accomplish with your mind on dinner. So - you know the incantation, let me see what you can do… '

Umbridge did not follow Professor McGonagall around as she had Trelawney; perhaps she realised Professor McGonagall would not permit it. She did, however, take many more notes while sitting in her corner, and when Professor McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, she rose with a grim expression on her face.

Dean had Vanished most of his mouse. All that was left of it were a few quivering whiskers. John's, however, was still mostly visible, having only managed to Vanish its paws and tail.

As they all began to file out of the classroom, Umbridge approached Professor McGonagall's desk.

'How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?' Umbridge asked.

'Thirty-nine years this December,' said Professor McGonagall, snapping her bag shut.

'Very well,' said Umbridge, making a note, 'you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days' time.'

'I can hardly wait,' said Professor McGonagall, in a coldly indifferent voice. 'Winchester, come up here a moment.'

Dean started and threw his bag over his bag over his shoulder, going up to Professor McGonagall's desk.

'Yes, Professor?'

'I don't want you to be disheartened by the grade you received today,' she said and his eyebrows shot up. 'This is already a marked improvement on your previous performance, so I want you to think of this as a first step, rather than a failure. You're doing very well.'

'Wow. Thanks, Professor.'

'You're welcome. Keep up the good work.'

  
  


Dean caught up with the rest of the Gryffindors and made their way down to Care of Magical Creatures. Umbridge was there already, to inspect their lesson. Dean stood as far away from her as possible, at a table crawling with Bowtruckles, and he spotted the red rash on the back of John's hand.

'What did she make you write?' he asked.

' _"I must not make threats",'_ John muttered, feeding woodlice to one of the Bowtruckles.

Dean snorted. ' _Was_ it a threat?'

John shrugged. 'Dunno. Felt true when I said it.'

Harry got detention once more for shouting at Malfoy, and he moodily stabbed at his dinner before going up to Umbridge's office.

'Where do you wanna study today?' Dean asked Cas as they left the Great Hall.

'Gryffindor Tower, I think. It's cold in Ravenclaw.'

'Sure thing.'

They climbed the stairs all the way up, but Dean held Cas back outside the portrait of the Fat Lady.

'What is it?' Cas asked.

'I just wanted to tell you that I've been around a lot of crazy stuff. You know, monsters, Demons, all that. I know dangerous when I see it, and there's not an ounce of it in you. Okay?'

Cas's expression softened. 'I appreciate that.'

They unpacked all their books at the table by the window, away from everyone else, and quietly got to work.

Ron spread his out on the floor near the fire, frowning at how much he had to do, while Hermione watched him with a mixture of concern and amusement, and John and Sherlock just lay together on one of the squashy sofas.

Dean slowly made his way through his work, until a tapping sound on the window next to him distracted him. He looked up to see an owl sitting outside. He opened the window and it fluttered over to Sherlock.

'It's from Mycroft,' he said, sitting up and ripping the letter open.

The owl flew back out the window, which Dean closed behind it.

Sherlock quickly read the letter and tutted. 'He says Umbridge isn't his concern and he has far more important things to be doing than forcing the toad woman to teach us properly.' He handed the letter to John. 'See if you can see the important things he's meant to be doing.'

John took it and stared for a moment, then shook his head. 'He's hungry,' John said, giving it back to Sherlock. 'He didn't have dinner today.'

'Useless,' Sherlock muttered, throwing the letter onto the fire.

'I thought your brother was supposed to be helpful,' Ron grumbled.

'More helpful than _your_ brother,' Sherlock snapped.

'You're such a _git_ ,' Ron fumed, balling up a piece of parchment and lobbing it at him.

'Dean,' Cas said quietly, drawing his attention back to his homework. 'I'll be right back, will you be all right for a few minutes?'

'Sure, where are you going?'

'The hospital wing. I'm just getting some Murtlap essence for Harry, I have a feeling he'll need it.'

'Okay.'

Cas got up and softly squeezed Dean's shoulder as he passed.

Static passed through Dean where Cas touched him and he shivered.

Cas returned with a large bowl, and eventually everyone but Ron finished their homework, but no one wanted to go to bed until Harry came back.

Hermione began pacing anxiously, while the rest of them settled by the fire. 'We've got to do _something_ about Umbridge,' she said, chewing a fingernail. 'This can't go on.'

'We could always poison her,' Ron said, shoving away the work he'd given up on.

Hermione rolled her eyes and opened her mouth, but then the portrait hole opened and she took the Murtlap essence from Cas.

'Here,' she said, 'soak your hand in that, it should help.'

A look of relief flooded Harry's face and he sat down with Crookshanks in his lap. 'Thanks.'

'I still think you should complain about this,' Ron said in a low voice.

'No.'

'McGonagall would go nuts if she knew-'

'Yeah, she probably would,' said Harry. 'And how long do you think it would take her to pass another decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?'

'She's an awful woman,' said Hermione. ' _Awful._ We've got to do something about what a dreadful teacher she is. We're not learning any Defence from her at all.'

'Well, what can we do about that?' Ron yawned. ''S too late, isn't it? She got the job, she's here to stay. Fudge'll make sure of that.'

'Well,' Hermione said tentatively. 'You know, I was thinking today that maybe the time's come when we should just - just do it ourselves.'

'Do what ourselves?' Harry said suspiciously.

'Well - learn Defence Against the Dark Arts ourselves.'

'Come off it,' Ron groaned. 'You want us to do extra work? D'you realise Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week?'

'But this is much more important than homework!'

Everyone stared at her.

'I didn't think there was anything more important than homework!' said Ron.

'Don't be silly, of course there is. It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting for us out there. It's about making sure we can really defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year -'

'We can't do much by ourselves,' said Ron. 'I mean, all right, we can go and look up jinxes in the library and try and practise them, I suppose -'

'No, I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books,' said Hermione. 'We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong.'

'If you're talking about Lupin…'

'No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin,' said Hermione. 'He's too busy with the Order and, anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough.'

'Who, then?' said Harry, frowning at her.

Hermione heaved a very deep sigh. 'Isn't it obvious? I'm talking about _you,_ Harry.'

'About me what?'

'I'm talking about _you_ teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

Harry stared at her.

'That's an idea,' said Ron.

'Me?' said Harry. 'I can't do that, I'm no teacher. You've beaten me on every test anyway-'

'Actually, I haven't,' Hermione said coolly. 'You beat me in our third year - the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry, think about what you've _done!'_

'How d'you mean?'

'You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me,' Ron smirked. 'Let's think… First year, you saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who.'

'But that was luck, it wasn't skill-'

'Second year,' Ron interrupted, 'you killed the Basilisk and destroyed Riddle.'

'Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up, I-'

'Third year,' Ron said, louder still, 'you fought off about a hundred Dementors at once-'

'You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't-'

'Last year,' Ron said, almost shouting now, 'you fought off You-Know-Who _again-'_

 _'_ Listen to me! Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck - I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help. Don't sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn't I?' he said heatedly. 'I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of it because I was brilliant at Defence Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because - because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right - but I just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing - STOP LAUGHING!'

The bowl of Murtlap essence fell to the floor and smashed as Harry furiously stood up. ' _You don't know what it's like!_ None of you have had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorising a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own - your own brain or guts or whatever - like you can think straight when you know you're a nanosecond from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die - they've never taught us that in their classes, what it's like to deal with things like that - and you sit there acting like I'm a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up - you just don't get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn't needed me-'

'We weren't saying anything like that, mate!' said Ron, aghast. 'We weren't having a go at Diggory, we didn't - you've got the wrong end of the -' He looked helplessly at Hermione, whose face was stricken.

'Harry,' she said timidly, 'don't you see? This is exactly why we need you. We need to know what it's like facing him… facing V-Voldemort.'

'Listen, Harry, I get it,' said Dean, watching Cas's clenched fists out of the corner of his eye. 'A lot of it _is_ instinct, but you gotta start somewhere, and it's always better to have someone with experience show you the ropes. That really can mean the difference between life and death.'

'And Dean could help you,' said John.

'What?' said Dean.

'Yeah, Dean has experience too, so you wouldn't be doing it by yourself.'

'Wait, wait, I don't know if I can do that,' Dean said nervously. 'I mean, sure I have experience, but I've never killed a Basilisk or anything, that's pretty cool, how did you even do that?'

'With a sword,' said Sherlock. 'I was there, I saw him do it.'

'With a _sword?_ That is so-' Dean cut himself off at Harry's expression.

'I think it would be a good idea,' Cas said quietly, giving Dean a small, encouraging smile.

Dean cleared his throat. 'I-yeah, I guess I could help, you know, if you wanted me to.'

'Just - just think about it,' said Hermione. 'Please?'

Harry nodded, finally calming down.

'All right, well I think we should all go sleep on it,' Dean said. 'It's late.' He began to pack away all of their books and whispered to Cas. 'Are you okay? Do you need to go downstairs?'

'I'm all right, thank you, Dean,' Cas whispered back.

'Okay, good,' Dean nodded. 'See you tomorrow?'

'I have Quidditch practice, but we can study afterwards.'

'Fine by me. I'll come watch you fly for a while. I got nothing better to do.'

'You could try to do some of your homework alone,' Cas said, smiling again.

'Yeah, but that's no fun.'

Cas just shouldered his bag and said goodnight.

Dean too went to bed, along with everyone but Harry, who stayed behind to clear up the bowl he'd smashed. He drew his curtains about his bed, and hoped that he wouldn't disturb the others with the nightmares that were sure to come that night.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to Johnlock Hell, VegasGranny, OtakuElf and hhhellcat for the comments!  
> Okay guys, really sorry for the long wait, I'm still kinda sick, so I've not been writing as much. I got my very own assistance dog, in fact! I do eventually want to increase my posting frequency to what it was, but I can't make any promises. Thanks so much for being so patient with me if you're still here! I hope I see you again soon.


	15. In the Hog's Head

Two whole weeks passed before the subject of teaching came up again. In that time Cas had invited Dean to his Quidditch practice a few more times. He got to watch Cas's skills increase far beyond his natural ability with a broom, and as he became a sharp, decisive Chaser. It was a new colour on Cas, but Dean liked it and couldn't wait to watch his first real match.

They still spent a lot of time in the library too, and they were there when Hermione finally worked up the courage to bring it up.

'I was wondering,' she said to Harry, 'if you'd thought any more about Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

''Course I have,' Harry said grumpily, 'can't forget it, can we, with that hag teaching us-'

'I meant the idea I had about you teaching us.'

Dean put down his book to look at Harry expectantly.

'Well,' he said slowly, 'yeah I've thought about it a bit.'

'And?' Hermione said eagerly.

'I dunno… You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, didn't you?'

'Yes, Harry,' Hermione said gently, 'but all the same, there's no point pretending that you're not good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, because you are. You were the only person last year who could throw off the Imperius Curse, you can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can't, Viktor always said-'

Ron rounded on her so fast he appeared to crick his neck. Rubbing it, he said, 'Oh yeah? What did Vicky say?'

'Ha ha,' Hermione said in a bored voice. 'He said Harry knew how to do stuff even he didn't, and he was in the final year of Durmstrang.'

Ron was looking at Hermione suspiciously. 'You're not still in contact with him, are you?'

'So what if I am?' Hermione said coolly, though her face was a little pink. 'I can have a pen-pal if I-'

'He didn't only want to be your pen-pal,' Ron said accusingly.

Hermione shook her head and ignored him. 'Anyway, what do you think? Will you teach us?'

'Well… Only if Dean helps. And it'll just be you lot, right?'

Hermione looked anxious again. 'Now don't fly off the handle again, please, but I really think you ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we are talking about defending ourselves from Voldemort. Oh, don't be pathetic, Ron. It doesn't seem fair not to offer the chance to other people.'

Harry considered it for a moment, then said,' Yeah, but I don't think anyone else will want to be taught by me. I'm a nutter, remember?'

‘Well, I think you might be surprised how many people would be interested in what you have to say,’ Hermione said seriously. ‘Look, you know the first weekend of October’s a Hogsmeade weekend? How would it be if we tell anyone who’s interested to meet us in the village and we can talk it over?’

‘Why do we have to do it outside school?’ said Ron.

‘Because I don’t think Umbridge would be very happy if she found out what we were up to.’

  
  


Dean became more nervous as the Hogsmeade weekend drew closer. It showed in his work, and Castiel made him stop writing one evening.

‘You’re not focused, Dean,’ he said, gently taking the quill from Dean. ‘What’s wrong?’

Dean shrugged. ‘I dunno… it’s this teaching thing… I don’t know what kind of help I’ll be.’

Cas cocked his head. ‘Why not? You help me.’

‘You’re already super smart, all you needed was time and practice,’ Dean shrugged.

‘And you taught Harry.’

‘Harry knew what he was doing, he just needed the right spells.’

Cas smiled at him. ‘Dean, this is exactly why you’ll be a good teacher. You can tell what someone needs to learn, and that’s the most important skill a teacher has.’

A warm glow filled Dean’s chest. ‘You really think so?’ he said. ‘Even though - you know - this stuff is hard for me?’ He gestured at the papers in front of them.

‘I think you’ve done well enough with me, without needing too much paperwork.’

Dean allowed himself a small smile. Cas _had_ improved a lot already. Without the stress of working in the dungeon, and Snape breathing down his neck, his confidence in potion making had grown and he was already practicing fourth-year potions again. He still hesitated in touching some of the more volatile ingredients and tending to the fire, but his determination to get better at it pushed him through.

‘And don’t think I don’t know that you buy extra ingredients to practice with,’ Cas said, and Dean’s cheeks burned. ‘If that isn’t teacher material, then I don’t know what is.’

‘You’re not too shabby yourself, you know,’ Dean said to Cas, picking up his quill again. ‘Maybe you ought to give it a try.’

‘I think Defence Against the Dark Arts is more urgent than anything I could teach, but I’m happy to help plan lessons.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Dean grinned. ‘We make a good team.’

‘Yes, I think so too.’

The warm glow in Dean’s chest spread all the way to his fingertips, but his focus did not improve, as Cas was all he could think about. They eventually gave up, and Dean accompanied Cas on his patrol duty.

‘Am I supposed to be doing this?’ Dean asked, climbing the stairs with him.

‘Technically no, but I’ve given you permission.’

‘You’re breaking the rules for me?’ Dean grinned.

‘ _Bending_ them. There’s a difference,’ Cas said, checking behind a tapestry that concealed a passageway.

‘If you say so,’ Dean sniggered.

  
  


The morning of the Hogsmeade visit dawned bright but windy. After breakfast they queued up in front of Filch, who matched their names to the long list of students who had permission to visit the village. Both Cas and John appeared to have had a rough night. John was pale and pinched, wrapped in his hat and scarf, and Cas stared straight ahead, a twitch in his cheek. Dean put a hand on Cas’s back and he leapt away as though shocked. ‘Sorry,’ Dean said, watching Cas rub his arm. ‘Are you okay? You don’t look so good. Maybe you should stay here.’

Cas shook his head. ‘I want to come.’

‘Well don’t push it.’

‘I won’t.’

They walked behind John and Sherlock, who were holding hands, John’s head resting on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock was whispering to him, but Cas and Dean couldn’t hear what he was saying from their distance away.

Eventually, they all caught up with Harry, Ron and Hermione, and they all made their way through the village together.

‘Where are we going anyway?’ Harry asked. ‘The Three Broomsticks?’

‘Oh no,’ said Hermione. ‘It’s always packed and really noisy. I’ve told the others to meet us at the Hog’s Head, that other pub, you know the one, it’s not on the main road. I think it’s a bit… you know… _dodgy…_ but students don’t normally go in there, so I don’t think we’ll be overheard.

They walked through the main street, past Zonko’s, which Cas gazed at mournfully, and turned up a side street, at the top of which stood a small inn. A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture of a wild boar’s severed head, leaking blood on to the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as they approached.

It was not at all like the Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave the impression of cleanliness and warmth. The Hog’s Head bar comprised of one small, dingy and very dirty room that smelled strongly of goats. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead with stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables. The floor seemed at first glance to be compressed earth, but it actually turned out to be stone beneath accumulated filth.

The pub appeared to cater to a more unusual clientele, and keeping your face covered seemed to be somewhat of a fashion in the Hog’s Head. There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty grey bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of smoking, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth; two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the windows; in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes; and in one of the booths, they only got a glimpse of the man’s bearded jaw before he hastily threw his cloak over his face.

‘I don’t know about this, Hermione,’ Harry muttered as they crossed to the bar, looking at the witch in the veil. ‘Has it occurred to you that Umbridge might be under there?’

Hermione cast an appraising eye over the veiled witch. ‘Umbridge is shorter than that woman,’ Hermione said quietly. ‘And anyway, even if Umbridge does come here, there’s nothing she can do to stop us. I’ve checked the rules and we’re not out of bounds; I specifically asked Professor Flitwick whether students are allowed to come in the Hog’s Head, and he said yes, but he advised me to bring our own glasses. And I’ve looked up everything I can think of about study groups and homework groups and they’re definitely allowed. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to _parade_ what we’re doing.’

‘No,’ said Harry, ‘especially since it’s not exactly a homework group you’re planning, is it?’

The barman sidled towards them out of the back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long grey hair and beard. He looked vaguely familiar.

‘What?’ the barman grunted.

‘Seven Butterbeers, please,’ said Hermione.

The barman reached beneath the counter and began pulling dusty, dirty bottles, which he slammed on the bar.

‘Fourteen Sickles,’ he said.

Harry handed over the money and they all retreated to the table furthest from the bar.

John’s eyes roved over the barman, stared up at the ceiling, then finally landed on the hooded man. His face was still hidden, but he was sitting completely still, clearly paying them close attention. John squinted at him, but the man didn’t seem to be threatening at all. Perhaps he was a regular, concerned by a large group of Hogwarts students that suddenly seemed interested in the Hog’s Head. John closed his eyes, leaning against Sherlock. Neither of them had the energy to pay much attention to Hermione, much less a random stranger in the Hog’s Head.

‘You know what?’ Ron murmured, looking over at the bar with enthusiasm. ‘We could order anything we liked in here. I bet that bloke would sell us anything, he wouldn’t care. I’ve always wanted to try Firewhisky-’

‘You - are - a - _prefect,’_ Hermione snarled.

‘Oh,’ said Ron. ‘Yeah…’

‘You’re not missing much,’ Cas said, wrinkling his nose. ‘It isn’t very nice.’

‘Who is supposed to be meeting us anyway?’ Harry asked.

‘Just a couple of people,’ Hermione said, checking her watch and looking anxiously at the door. ‘I told them to be here about now and I’m sure they all know where it is - oh, look, this might be them now.’

The door of the pub opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming crowd of people.

First came Neville with Dean Thomas and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with Cho and one of her friends. Then Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey, with Sam, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, Molly Hooper, some other Hufflepuffs that they didn’t know, the three other Ravenclaw boys in their year, Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot, Ginny and, bringing up the rear, Lee Jordan and the Weasley twins.

‘A couple of people?’ Harry said hoarsely. ‘ _A couple of people?’_

‘Yes, well, the idea was quite popular,’ Hermione said happily. ‘Ron, will you pull up some chairs?’

The barman froze in the act of wiping out a glass with a rag so dirty it looked as though it had never been washed. Possibly, he had never seen his pub so full.

‘Hi,’ said Fred, reaching the bar first and counting everyone, ‘could we have… twenty-seven Butterbeers, please?’

The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as though he had been interrupted in something very important, he started passing up dusty Butterbeers from under the bar.

‘Cheers,’ said Fred, handing them out. ‘Cough up everyone, I haven’t got enough gold for all of these…’

Harry rounded on Hermione as people began rummaging in their robes for coins. ‘What have you been telling them?’ he hissed. ‘What are they expecting?’

‘I told you, they just want to hear what you’ve got to say,’ she said soothingly, but added quickly, ‘you don’t have to do anything yet, I’ll speak to them first.’

‘Hi, Harry,’ Neville beamed, sitting opposite Harry.

Cho sat down near Ron, and everyone else gathered around excitedly, pulling chairs with them. Once they were all seated and watching Harry expectantly, Hermione cleared her throat.

‘Er,’ she said, her voice slightly higher than usual out of nerves. ‘Well - er - hi.’

The group focused its attention on her.

‘Well… erm… you all know why you’re here. Erm… I had the idea that - that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defence Against the Dark Arts - and I mean really study it, not the rubbish Umbridge is doing with us, because nobody could call that Defence Against the Dark Arts. I thought it would be good if we took matters into our own hands.’ She paused and glanced sideways at Harry. ‘And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just in theory, but doing the real spells-’

‘You want to pass your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL too, though, I bet?’ said Michael Corner.

‘Of course I do,’ Hermione said at once. ‘But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defence because… because…’ she took a great breath and finished, ‘because Lord Voldemort is back.’

The reaction was immediate and predictable. Cho’s friend shrieked and slopped Butterbeer down herself; Terry Boot gave an involuntary twitch, Padma Patil shuddered, Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough, and Sherlock and Castiel both flinched violently, Sherlock smashing his elbow into the table.

‘Well.. that’s the plan, anyway,’ said Hermione. ‘If you want to join us, we need to decide how we’re going to-’

‘Where’s the proof You-Know-Who’s back?’ said a blond Hufflepuff boy in a rather aggressive voice.

‘Well, Dumbledore believes it-’ Hermione began.

‘You mean Dumbledore believes _him,’_ said the boy, nodding at Harry.

‘Who are _you?’_ Ron said rudely.

‘Zacharias Smith,’ said the boy, ‘and I think we’ve got a right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who’s back.’

‘Look,’ said Hermione, intervening swiftly, ‘that’s not what this meeting was supposed to be about-’

‘It’s okay, Hermione,’ said Harry. He looked Zacharias in the face. ‘What makes me say You-Know-Who’s back? I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn’t believe him, you won’t believe me, and I’m not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone.’

The whole group seemed to have held its breath while Harry spoke.

Zacharias said dismissively, ‘All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory’s body back to Hogwarts. He didn’t give us details, he didn’t tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we’d all like to know-’

‘If you’ve come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone, I can’t help you,’ Harry said, his temper rising. ‘I don’t want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right?’

John slid down in his seat next to Cas, turning a slight shade of green. Judging by his and Sherlock’s expressions, he must have been seeing Voldemort’s return again.

‘So if that’s what you’re here for, you might as well all clear out now.’ Harry cast an angry look at Hermione, but no one left their seats, not even Zacharias.

‘So,’ said Hermione, her voice high-pitched again. ‘So… like I was saying… if you want to learn some defence, then we need to work out how we’re going to do it, how often we’re going to meet, where we’re going to-’

‘Is it true,’ interrupted another Hufflepuff girl, looking at Harry, ‘that you can produce a Patronus?’

There was a murmur of interest around the group at this.

‘Yeah,’ Harry said, slightly defensively.

‘A corporeal Patronus?’

‘Er - you don’t know Madam Bones, do you?’

The girl smiled. ‘She’s my auntie,’ she said. ‘I’m Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So - is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry.

‘Blimey, Harry!’ said Lee, looking deeply impressed. ‘I never knew that!’

‘Mum told Ron not to spread it around,’ said Fred, grinning at Harry. ‘She said you got enough attention as it was.’

‘She’s not wrong,’ mumbled Harry, and a couple of people laughed.

‘And did you kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore’s office?’ demanded Terry Boot. ‘That’s what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year…’

‘Er - yeah, I did, yeah,’ said Harry.

Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled; the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks and Lavender Brown said ‘Wow!’ softly.

‘And in our first year,’ said Neville to the group at large, ‘he saved the Philological Stone-’

‘Philosopher’s,’ hissed Hermione.

‘Yes, that - from You-Know-Who,’ finished Neville.

‘And that’s not to mention,’ said Cho, ‘all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year - getting past dragons and merpeople and Acromantula and things…’

There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table. There was no denying that, at least, they had all been spectating throughout the tasks.

‘Look,’ Harry said, and everyone fell silent at once, ‘I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to be modest or anything, but… I had a lot of help with all that stuff…’

‘Not with the dragon, you didn’t,’ said Michael Corner at once. ‘That was a seriously cool bit of flying...;’

‘Yeah, well…’

‘And nobody helped you get rid of those Dementors this summer,’ said Susan Bones.

‘No,’ said Harry, ‘no, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I’m trying to make is-’

‘Are you trying to weasel out of showing us this stuff?’ said Zacharias Smith.

‘Here’s an idea,’ Ron said loudly, before Harry could speak, ‘why don’t you shut your mouth?’

Zacharias flushed. ‘Well, we’ve all turned up to learn from him and now he’s telling us he can’t really do any of it,’ he said.

‘That’s not what he said,’ snarled Fred.

‘Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?’ said George, pulling a long, lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of his Zonko’s bags. ‘Or any part of your body, really, we’re not fussy where we stick this.’

‘Yes, well,’ Hermione said hastily, ‘moving on… the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry and Dean?’

Still unable to keep his mouth shut, Zacharias said, ‘What exactly makes Dean qualified anyway. Even if Harry’s done all this stuff, he hasn’t.’

‘He’s plenty qualified,’ Sam said hotly. ‘Our dad’s an Auror.’

‘Yeah, your dad, not your brother.’

‘What, you want a list of all the stuff I’ve done, is that it?’ Dean said, gritting his teeth. ‘’Cause you’re not gonna get one.’

‘So why exactly should you teach me then?’

‘Dean’s done lots of stuff,’ Sam said loudly. ‘He’s fought off a werewolf, and manticores-’

‘Sam-’

‘And he’s tamed all sorts of magical creatures, and there was that troll once-’

‘Sam, stop-’

‘And one time, he even fought off a Demon all by himself, and he didn’t even have a wand-’

‘ _I said stop,’_ Dean barked, slamming a fist into the table, but regretting it when Cas flinched again.

‘He saved me,’ Sam said in a small voice, before finally clamping his mouth shut.

Then Harry spoke up. ‘I wouldn’t have got past half the things in the maze without Dean’s help. Is that good enough for all of you?’

There was a murmur of general agreement.

‘Right,’ said Hermione, looking relieved that something had at last been settled. ‘Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don’t think there’s any point in meeting less than once a week-’

‘Hang on,’ said Angelina, ‘we need to make sure this doesn’t clash with our Quidditch practice.’

‘No,’ said Cho, ‘nor with ours.’

‘Or ours,’ added Zacharias.

‘I’m sure we can find a night that suits everyone,’ said Hermione, slightly impatiently, ‘but you know, this is rather important, we’re talking about learning to defend ourselves against Voldemort’s Death Eaters-’

‘Well said!’ said Ernie Macmillan. ‘Personally, I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we’ll do this year, even with our OWLs coming up! I’m at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher on us at such a critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is actively trying to prevent us from using defensive spells-’

‘We think the reason Umbridge doesn’t want us trained in Defence Against the Dark Arts, is that she’s got some… some mad idea that Dumbledore could use us as a kind of private army. She thinks he’d mobilise use against the Ministry.’

Nearly everyone looked stunned at the news, except Luna, who piped up, ‘Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army.’

‘What?’ said Harry, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of information.

‘Yes, he’s got an army of Heliopaths,’ said Luna solemnly.

‘No he hasn’t,’ Hermione snapped.

‘Yes he has,’ said Luna.

‘What are Heliopaths?’ asked Neville, looking blank.

‘They’re spirits of fire,’ said Luna, ‘great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of-’

‘They don’t exist, Neville,’ Hermione said tartly.

‘Oh yes they do!’ Luna said angrily.

‘Oh and where’s the proof of that?’ snapped Hermione.

‘There are plenty of eye-witness accounts. Just because you’re so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you-’

‘ _Hem, hem,’_ said Ginny, in such a good impression of Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm, then laughed. ‘Weren’t we trying to decide how often we’re going to meet and have defence lessons?’

‘Yes,’ said Hermione at once, ‘yes, we were, you’re right, Ginny.’

‘Well, once a week sounds cool,’ said Lee.

‘As long as-’ began Angelina.

‘Yes, yes, we know about Quidditch,’ Hermione said tensely. ‘Well, the other thing to decide is where we’re going to meet…’

This was rather more difficult; the whole group fell silent.

‘Library?’ suggested Katie Bell after a few moments.

‘I can’t see Madam Pomfrey being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library,’ said Harry.

‘Maybe an unused classroom?’ said Dean Thomas.

‘Yeah,’ said Ron, ‘McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practising for the Triwizard.’

Harry looked sceptical at this.

‘Right, well, we’ll try to find somewhere,’ said Hermione. ‘We’ll send a message round to everyone when we’ve got a time and a place for the first meeting.’

She rummaged around in her bag and produced a parchment and quill, then hesitated, as though she were steeling herself to say something. ‘I - I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think,’ she took a deep breath, ‘that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we’re doing. So if you sign, you’re agreeing not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we’re up to.’

Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully wrote his signature, but several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list.

‘Er…’ Zacharias said slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass to him, ‘well… I’m sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.’

But Ernie was looking hesitant about signing too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

‘I - well, we are _prefects,’_ Ernie burst out. ‘And if this list was found… well, I mean to say… you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out-’

‘You just said this group was the most important thing you’d do this year,’ Harry reminded him.

‘I - yes,’ said Ernie, ‘yes, I do believe I said that, it’s just-’

‘Ernie, do you really think I’d leave that list lying around?’ Hermione said testily.

‘No. No, of course not,’ said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. ‘I - yes, of course I’ll sign.’

Nobody raised objections after Ernie, and when the last person had signed, Hermione slipped the parchment into her bag. There was a solemn feeling in the group now, as though they had all just signed some kind of contract.

‘Well, time’s ticking on,’ said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. ‘George, Lee and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we’ll be seeing you all later.’

In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave, too. Sherlock and John were some of the first to leave, John rushing for the door and stumbling on his way out. Sam left with the Creevey brothers, throwing Dean a reproachful look, but leaving without him.

Once outside, however, Cas pulled Dean aside, down another shadowy alley.

‘Listen, I’m sorry I scared you,’ Dean said.

Cas waved away his apology. ‘I’m fine. Are you all right?’

‘Of course I am,’ Dean said gruffly.

‘Dean.’

Dean rolled his eyes, and shrugged.

‘You - you fought a Demon?’

Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Cas, I really don’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t exactly fun for me.’

‘You were alone?’

‘Yeah…’ Dean said reluctantly.

‘Where was your father?’

‘What?’

‘Your father. Where was he? Shouldn’t he have been taking care of you? That’s what fathers are supposed to do, right?’

Dean shrugged again. ‘He was busy. On a job somewhere.’

Cas gave him a long, searching look. ‘Would you like to go with me to Scrivenshaft’s?’ he asked.

Dean blinked at the sudden change of subject. ‘Sure, but why?’

‘I’ve been watching the way you write. You were used to writing with those - those sticks that Muggles use, correct?’

‘Pens? Yeah.’

Cas nodded. ‘I think it’ll help you if we get a quill that’s shaped more in the way you’re used to. It’ll help your handwriting and make your own work easier to read.’

‘Right. Okay.’

Dean went with Cas back through Hogsmeade, mystified, but relieved. Cas knew exactly when to drop the subject, but there were prickles on the back of Dean’s neck the whole afternoon. He couldn’t stop thinking about when he and Sam had been cornered by a Demon, and how he’d clawed his way out of it, dragging Sam with him.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to OtakuElf, Suektlsn, VegasGranny, ReallyVeryGay, Dansel13 and hhhellcat for the comments!   
> Okay, so I know I promised to be quicker last time but my excuse is there were delays with my new glasses arriving, and I got promoted so my whole schedule changed. Sorry and thanks for waiting! I hope you all had a great Christmas, and I'll see you all again next time.


	16. Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four

Dean was preoccupied by thoughts of his encounter with a Demon for much of the weekend, but, as always, Cas found a way to focus his attention. The last burst of autumn sunshine persisted, so they sat outside with their homework, instead of hunching over a table in the library. Cas brought his cauldron with him and coaxed Dean into teaching him some more, but found he still had a block about some ingredients, and the fire. Dean gently helped him move past his frustration and he completed his first fifth-year potion almost perfectly. His smile at his success was enough to put Dean in a good mood for the rest of the day, and he went to bed on Sunday night feeling upbeat and ready to help Harry teach.

Dean was up early on Monday morning, and was the first to see the large sign affixed to the Gryffindor noticeboard, covering everything else on it. It was printed in large black letters and there was an official seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature. Dean squinted at it, reading it slowly.

  
  


_BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

  
  


_All student organisations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded._

  
  


_An organisation, society, team, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students._

  
  


_Permission to reform may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge)._

  
  


_No student organisation, society, team, group or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor._

  
  


_Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an organisation, society, team, group or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled._

  
  


_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four._

  
  


_Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

  
  


In the time it took for Dean to read it, others began to notice it too, as they emerged from their dormitories.

‘Does this mean they’re going to shut down the Gobstones Club?’ an anxious second-year said next to Dean.

‘I reckon you’ll be all right with Gobstones,’ Ron said behind them, making them both jump. ‘I don’t reckon we’ll be so lucky,’ he said to Harry and Dean, as the second-year hurried away.

‘This can’t be a coincidence,’ Harry said, clenching his fists. ‘She knows.’

‘She can’t,’ Ron said at once.

‘There were people listening in that pub. And let’s face it, we don’t know how many people who turned up we can trust… any of them could have run off and told Umbridge…’

‘Zacharias Smith!’ said Ron. ‘Or - I thought that Michael Corner had a really shifty look, too-’

Dean rolled his eyes. ‘Please, you’re only saying that ‘cause he’s going out with your sister.’

‘That’s totally not-’

‘I wonder if Hermione’s seen this yet,’ Harry interrupted, looking around at the girls’ dormitories.

‘Let’s go and tell her,’ said Ron.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that,’ Dean said, but Ron was already bounding towards the spiral staircase.

He was on the sixth stair when there was a loud, wailing klaxon-like sound and the steps melted together to make a long, smooth stone slide. There was a brief moment when Ron tried to keep running, arms working like windmills, then he toppled over backwards and slid back down, landing at Harry’s feet.

‘Er - I don’t think we’re allowed in the girls’ dormitory,’ Harry laughed, pulling Ron to his feet.

‘I didn’t realise that would happen. It’s not fair!’

‘I tried to warn you,’ Dean grinned.

‘Hermione’s allowed in our dormitory, how come we’re not allowed -?’

‘Well, it’s an old-fashioned rule,’ said Hermione, as she slid neatly onto the rug in front of them, ‘but it says in _Hogwarts: A History,_ that the founders thought boys were less trustworthy than girls. Anyway, why were you trying to get in there?’

‘To see you - look at this!’ Ron dragged her over to the noticeboard.

Hermione quickly read it and her expression became stony.

‘Someone must have blabbed to her!’ Ron said angrily.

‘They can’t have done,’ said Hermione in a low voice.

‘You’re so naive,’ said Ron, ‘you think just because you’re all honourable and trustworthy-’

‘No, they can’t have done, because I put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all signed,’ Hermione said grimly. ‘Believe me, if anyone’s run off and told Umbridge, we’ll know exactly who they are, and they will really regret it.’

‘What’ll happen to them?’ Ron asked eagerly.

‘Well, put it this way, it’ll make Eloise Midgeon’s acne look like a couple of cute freckles.’

‘Brutal, I like it,’ Dean grinned. ‘Do me a favour, though, don’t tell Cas. I don’t think he would approve.’

Hermione nodded, and Sherlock emerged from the boys’ dormitory, his hair wild from sleep.

‘Can’t Mycroft do something about this?’ Ron asked, pointing at the notice.

Sherlock took a moment to read it. ‘Mycroft believes he’s far too important to get involved with something as trivial as a school curriculum,’ he mumbled.

‘Being Head of the Department of Mysteries, he might not be entirely wrong,’ John yawned, as he too descended the staircase.

Sherlock shot him an angry look, and John rolled his eyes.

‘Trouble in paradise?’ Dean asked as Sherlock stomped away.

‘Ignore him, he’s just being grouchy,’ said John. ‘He pretends that he doesn’t need to sleep, then he stays awake for way too long and gets like this.’

‘Come on, let’s get down to breakfast… I wonder whether this has been put up in all the houses…’

It was immediately apparent upon entering the Great Hall that Umbridge’s sign had not only appeared in Gryffindor Tower. There was a peculiar intensity about the chatter and an extra measure of movement in the Hall as people scurried up and down their tables conferring on what they had read.

Sam appeared in front of them and grabbed Dean, concern clear on his face. 

‘What’s wrong?’ Dean frowned, bending slightly to Sam could whisper in his ear. 

‘It’s Cas,’ said Sam, pointing down the Gryffindor table. ‘He’s been here all morning, just staring. I tried to help, but I can’t get near him, his Shield Charm’s up again.’

Dean looked up and saw the gap in students, and Castiel’s dark head of hair. John was sitting opposite, his brow creased. ‘Thanks, Sam, I’ll take care of it.’ Dean sat himself down beside Cas, as close as he could without getting shocked by his Shield Charm. Cas didn’t seem to notice Dean was there, he just stared ahead, a spoon in one hand, the other hand clenched into a fist, and an empty bowl sat in front of him.

‘Hey, Cas, what’s going on?’ Dean asked with a smile.

Cas didn’t respond.

‘I don’t think he’s well,’ John said.

‘Yeah, but there’s nothing we can do until he drops his Shield Charm, right, Cas?’

Cas blinked and the spoon fell out of his hand.

‘Hey, don’t you have Quidditch practice today?’ Dean asked. ‘Can I come? They’re not gonna think I’m spying, or anything, are they?’

Cas blinked again and sighed, finally letting go of his Shield Charm.

‘Hey, man,’ Dean said warmly. ‘Why don’t we go out now? Get some fresh air?’

Cas nodded and stood, trembling, and led the way outside.

Dean waited until he was sure they were alone before speaking. ‘Hey, what happened?’ he asked.

Cas shook his head. ‘I don’t - I don’t know,’ he mumbled.

‘Do you need to go to the Shrieking Shack?’

‘No, no, no,’ Cas said, rubbing his arm. ‘I - I can’t - I have _her_ first, I can’t-’

‘Cas, if you have to go, you have to go.’

Cas shook his head again. ‘I thought I needed to, but then I saw her at the table, and I - I couldn’t move, and I could feel it coming out, but I couldn’t move.’

‘It’s okay, Cas, let’s just go, you’ll be all right.’

‘I can’t, I can’t.’ But he groaned loudly and held his head.

‘Cas, come on.’

Cas looked back up at the castle, then out at the grounds, and finally gave up. ‘All right.’

They made inside the Shrieking Shack just in time, Cas beginning to glow while they were still crawling in the tunnel. He broke a few of the chairs and the bed again, which Dean fixed for him while he slept it off. Dean didn’t think Cas would want to sleep for that long, so Dean woke him after an hour.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Do you need more time to rest?’

‘No,’ Cas mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

‘There’s gotta be a better way than this,’ Dean said, passing Cas some water.

‘Not that I know of.’

Dean sat next to Cas on the bed. ‘Are you - are you sure you can’t get an Obscurus?’

Cas sighed. ‘If it had been triggered when I was younger, I probably would have,’ he admitted. ‘I’m too old now.’

‘It’s just that your power - it’s really similar to what happens to Obscurials.’

Cas shrugged. ‘Dumbledore says the leading theory is that the first Obscurials were people like me - descended from the mountain creatures. They were more likely to suppress their power and the Obscurus fed on them, turning their power against them. But the more they mixed with wizards, the more the Obscurae adapted. They learned to infect young wizards too, but the infection will always mimick ours. At least, that's what Dumbledore thinks.’

‘That’s dark.’

‘I agree.’ Cas stood up and stretched. ‘I think we should go. I can still make it to Transfiguration.’ He stumbled slightly and made his way back through the tunnel.

‘We should really make that tunnel bigger,’ Dean said as they crawled out underneath the Whomping Willow. ‘You didn’t have any breakfast, do you wanna stop in the kitchens first?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Cool. I’ll walk you to Transfiguration, I’m only missing History of Magic anyway.’

Cas rolled his eyes.

‘So, what set it off this morning?’ Dean asked as they walked across the lawn. ‘Was it that notice? I’m pretty sure we’re doing the defence lessons anyway, but if you’re worried, you don’t have to do it.’

‘No, it’s not that. I still want to do it.’ Cas hesitated. ‘I dreamed about Gabriel last night. Everything was reminding me of him this morning, and I got afraid that something happened to him.’ Cas looked away, embarrassed.

‘I get it,’ said Dean. ‘I dream about bad stuff happening to Sam too, sometimes. But I’m sure Gabriel’s okay. He’s tough.’

‘He is,’ Cas agreed.

They climbed the stone steps into the castle, but Cas stopped dead in the Entrance Hall.

‘What-’ Dean began, but then saw what he was staring at.

Professor Umbridge was standing in front of the marble staircase, arms folded, smiling sweetly at them ‘Ah, there you are, Mr Edlund. I missed you in my class this morning.’

Cas bit his lip.

‘Would you care to explain why you were absent without my permission?’

‘I - I was sick,’ Cas mumbled, staring down at his feet.

‘Speak up please.’

Cas squeezed his eyes shut. ‘I was sick,’ he repeated, only slightly louder than he’d said before.

‘Oh, I see. You’ll have a note from Madam Pomfrey.’ She held out a hand expectantly.

‘I - I - It’s-’ Cas glanced at Dean.

‘It’s a long term issue,’ Dean took over, much to Cas’s relief. ‘He’s allowed to leave class whenever he needs.’

‘And what exactly is this “long term issue”?’ Umbridge asked, her voice taking on an even more sugary tone.

‘That’s private information,’ Dean said, narrowing his eyes. ‘He doesn’t have to tell you.’

‘I am the High Inquisitor-’

‘That gives you the right to inspect teachers and review the curriculum. It doesn’t give you the right to know students’ private medical information. It’s between us, Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, and that’s all you need to know.’

‘And what exactly are _you_ doing out of class, Mr Winchester?’

‘I have permission from Professor McGonagall to help Cas if he needs it.’

‘I’m sure he can handle it on his own-’

‘I’m sorry, are you trained in healing?’ Dean said, heat rising in his face. ‘Cas is under Madam Pomfrey’s care, and it’s up to her, not you, what help Cas does or doesn’t need. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re late for class.’

Dean grabbed Cas’s hand and pulled him away before Umbridge could say anything else, only stopping when he was sure they were out of earshot. ‘I’m sorry, I know you don’t like being grabbed,’ Dean said, letting go of Cas’s hand, ‘but I had to get you outta there.’

‘It’s fine,’ Cas said breathlessly, leaning against a wall, fists clenched. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees, forcing himself to breathe deeply.

‘You got it?’ said Dean.

Cas nodded, working through his panic.

‘What’s this all about, Cas?’ Dean asked, when Cas finally straightened up. ‘You panic every time someone’s mad, and sometimes not even at you. What happened to you, man?’

Cas looked away.

‘Does someone hurt you when they get mad?’ Dean said, carefully taking a step back so Cas wouldn’t feel trapped. ‘Gabriel told me some stuff about your sister… Did she do that to you?’

‘This is nothing to do with Lucy,’ Cas snapped, shouldering his bag. ‘I have to go, I’m late for Transfiguration.’

Dean didn’t argue, and let Cas pass, but he stopped a few paces away.

‘I’ll meet you at the Quidditch pitch after dinner. You can work on your Charms essay in the stands.’

‘Okay.’ He let Cas walk away, then made his way up to History of Magic, just in time to catch the last few minutes of Professor Binns’ droning lecture.

‘Where’s Harry?’ Dean asked Ron as he sidled into Harry’s empty seat.

‘Hedwig turned up at the window,’ Ron told him. ‘She looked hurt so Harry took her to find someone to heal her.’

‘Gotcha.’

‘Where’ve you been?’

‘What, you think I don’t have anything better to do than listen to Binns?’

Ron sniggered, and Hermione tutted.

They found Harry again on their way down to the dungeons.

‘Is Hedwig okay?’ Hermione asked.

‘Where did you take her?’ said Ron.

‘To Grubbly-Plank,’ said Harry. ‘And I met McGonagall… she said communications in and out of the castle are being watched.’

‘I’d be more surprised if they weren’t,’ Sherlock said, catching up with them on his way to Herbology.

‘No Cas?’ Dean asked.

‘No, he’s still not feeling well. He’s gone to the hospital wing.’

‘Damn.’

‘Who’s the letter from?’ John asked, struggling to keep up with everyone else’s much longer legs.

‘Snuffles,’ Harry said quietly, and Ron took the letter from him.

‘“Same time, same place”. Does he mean the fire in the common room?’

‘Obviously,’ said Hermione, also reading the note. ‘I hope no one else has read this…’

‘But it was still sealed and everything,’ said Harry. ‘And no one would understand what it meant if they didn’t know where we’d spoken to him before, would they?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hermione said anxiously, ‘it wouldn’t exactly be difficult to re-seal it by magic.’

‘Pass it over,’ said John, holding out his hand. Ron gave it to him and he frowned, turning it over. ‘Nothing,’ he said, giving it back to Harry.

‘That’s good, right?’

‘No, I don’t feel anything at all. Last time, I could feel that he was annoyed about something, but this is just nothing.’

‘It could mean someone was trying to cover their tracks,’ Sherlock suggested.

‘That would make sense,’ John nodded, giving Harry the letter back. ‘I don’t see him getting caught though, if that helps.’

‘We’ll just have to risk it,’ said Hermione. ‘There’s no way of warning him without _that_ being intercepted too.’

They separated in the Entrance Hall, Sherlock leaving for Herbology, and the rest of them descending into the dungeons for Potions.

Draco Malfoy was already standing outside Snape’s classroom door, waving around an official-looking piece of parchment and talking much louder than was necessary.

‘Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to keep playing straight away, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he’s always popping in and out of the Ministry… it’ll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor will be allowed to keep playing, won’t it?’

‘Don’t rise,’ Hermione whispered, ‘it’s what he wants.’

‘I mean, if it’s a question of influence with the Ministry, I don’t think they’ve got much of a chance… from what my father says, they’ve been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years… and as for Potter… my father says it’s a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St Mungo’s… apparently they’ve got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic.’

Neville charged past them, knocking Harry aside and heading straight for Malfoy.

‘Neville, _no!’_

Harry leapt forward and seized the back of Neville’s robes; Neville struggled frantically, his fists flailing, trying desperately to get to Malfoy who looked, for a moment, extremely shocked.

Dean and Ron jumped on Neville as well, forcing him away from the Slytherins and back into the Gryffindor line.

Neville’s face was scarlet and he was barely comprehensible through his blind fury.

‘Not - funny - don’t - Mungo’s - show - him -’

The dungeon door opened and Snape appeared there. His black eyes swept the Gryffindor line. ‘Fighting, are we?’ he said in his cold, sneering voice. ‘Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom or it will be detention. Inside, all of you.’

They let go of Neville, who was panting heavily, and he glared at them.

‘I had to stop you,’ Harry gasped, picking up his bag. ‘Crabbe and Goyle would’ve torn you apart.’

Neville said nothing. He merely snatched up his own bag and stalked into the dungeon.

‘What in the name of Merlin was _that_ about?’ said Ron.

Dean didn’t know, but the looks on Harry and John’s faces told him that they did, though he was sure they wouldn’t be willing to share.

They went inside and took their usual seats at the back of the class. They pulled out parchment, quills, and their copies of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi._ The class around them were whispering about what Neville had just done, but when Snape closed the door with an echoing bang, everyone immediately fell silent.

‘You will notice,’ said Snape, ‘that we have a guest with us today.’ He gestured towards the dim corner of the dungeon, and they saw Umbridge sitting there with her clipboard on her knee.

‘We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution today. You will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson; if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend. Instructions are on the board, carry on.’

Dean had to rely on his book again to finish his potion. He still couldn’t read what was on the board, so he couldn’t tell if he was following Snape’s instructions well enough, but it seemed to match what the book said it should look like, so Dean continued uneasily.

Umbridge spent the first half an hour making notes in her corner, then got up to ask Snape some questions.

‘Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level,’ she said briskly. ‘Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that were removed from the syllabus.’

Snape slowly turned to look at her.

‘Now… how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?’ she asked.

‘Fourteen years.’

‘You applied first for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?’

‘Yes,’ Snape said quietly.

‘But you were unsuccessful?’

Snape’s lip curled. ‘Obviously.’

Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard and Dean bit back his amused smile.

'And you have applied regularly for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?'

'Yes,' Snape said quietly. He looked very angry.

'Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?'

'I suggest you ask him.'

'Oh, I shall,' said Umbridge, with a sweet smile.

'I suppose this is relevant?' Snape asked.

'Oh yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' - er - backgrounds.' She then turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson and began questioning her about the lesson.

Harry's potion had been congealing in his cauldron and Dean wrinkled his nose as it began to issue foul black smoke that smelled like burnt rubber. Snape swept over and peered down his nose at it.

'No marks again, then, Potter,' he said, emptying Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. 'You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?'

'Yes,' Harry said furiously. Snape had already given them homework, and Harry was meant to be at Quidditch practice that evening.

'Maybe I can skive Divination,' Harry said glumly, as they stood in the courtyard during lunch. 'I'll pretend to be ill and do Snape's essay instead, then I won't have to stay up half the night.

'You can't skive off Divination,' said Hermione.

'Not in front of two prefects you can't,' Dean sniggered.

'Hark who's talking, you walked out of Divination, you hate Trelawney!' Ron said indignantly.

'I don't _hate_ her, I just think she's an absolutely appalling teacher and a real old fraud.'

'She's not that bad,' John said reproachfully. He'd developed something of a soft spot for her since she'd given him her most prized possession.

'Besides that, Harry's already missed History of Magic today, and I don't think he ought to miss anything else today.'

Harry groaned, but half an hour later, he was sitting in his regular seat next to Ron in the Divination classroom. Dean sat in his seat beside John, and noticed that John was looking quite nauseous.

'You okay?' he asked.

John nodded, but his jaw was clenched tightly.

Professor Trelawney herself was in a foul mood. She slammed a copy of _The Dream Oracle_ on the table between Harry and Ron, threw the next copy at Seamus and Dean Thomas, and thrust the final one into Neville's chest so hard he slipped off his seat.

'Well, carry on!' she said loudly, her voice high-pitched and hysterical, 'you know what to do! Or am I such a sub-standard teacher that you have never learned how to open a book!'

The class stared at her, perplexed, as she flounced back to her chair.

'Professor?' Parvati said tentatively. 'Is there anything - er - wrong?'

'Wrong!' cried Trelawney. 'Certainly not! I have been insulted, certainly… insinuations have been made against me… unfounded accusations levelled… but no, there is nothing wrong, certainly not!' She took a great, shuddering breath and looked away, angry tears spilling from under her glasses. 'I say nothing of sixteen years of devoted service… it has passed, apparently, unnoticed… but I shall not be insulted, no, I shall not!'

'But, Professor, who's insulting you?' Parvati asked.

'The Establishment!'

John groaned quietly.

'Yes, those with eyes too clouded by the mundane to See as I See, to Know as I Know… of course, we Seers have always been feared, always persecuted…it is - alas - our fate.' She gulped and dabbed at her wet cheeks with the end of her shawl.

'Professor,' said Parvati, 'do you mean… is it something Professor Umbridge -?'

'Do not speak to me about that woman!' cried Trelawney, leaping to her feet, her beads rattling. 'Kindly continue with your work!'

John groaned again, clapped a hand over his mouth and fled from the room, leaving Dean to flip absently through the book alone.

Trelawney didn't appear to notice John's departure, and spent the rest of the lesson striding among them, muttering what sounded like threats under her breath.

'... may well choose to leave… the indignity of it… on probation…we shall see… how she dares…'

'You and Umbridge have got something in common,' Harry said to Hermione, when they met on the way to Defence Against the Dark Arts. 'She obviously reckons Trelawney's an old fraud too… looks like she's put her on probation.'

'Good afternoon, class,' said Umbridge, once they were all settled in their seats, John slipping through the door at the last moment, still looking quite queasy.

'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,' they chanted drearily.

'Wands away, please.'

But no one had bothered to take them out in the first place.

'Please turn to page thirty-four of _Defensive Magical Theory_ and read the third chapter entitled "The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack". There will be no need to talk.'

Dean knew before even opening the book that it was all rubbish, but he knew that Cas would want him to take it as an opportunity to practice reading, so he flipped to the chapter and got started.

His eyes were itching by the end of the lesson, but he ignored it, hurrying through dinner and down to the Quidditch pitch.

It was cold in the stands, but Dean made himself comfortable enough by conjuring a small fire in a jar at his feet. He watched the pitch for a while as the Ravenclaw team shot out from the changing rooms. They all looked around in concern; Cas was missing.

'Have you seen him?' Roger Davies, captain of the team, called to Dean.

'No,' Dean shouted back. 'He was sick earlier, give him a minute.'

Roger nodded and began drilling the team, glancing around every so often.

Just as Dean was getting worried himself, and considering going to look for Cas, a blue blur raced overhead, and Cas finally appeared. He flew over to Roger first, then got himself into position with the other Chasers.

Dean pulled out his essay, but his eyes kept getting drawn to Cas working on formations. He forced himself to work, but it went slowly, and he only got one paragraph done by the time Cas came to check on him. Roger left the Chasers to go over strategy with the Beaters, so Cas jumped up on his broom and surfed it the length of the stadium, standing on it in front of Dean. He held out his hands for the parchment and quill and swiftly read through it.

'This is good so far,' he said, 'but this sentence here is a little backwards.' He circled it, then Roger blew his whistle, so he handed the parchment back to Dean and flew back into formation.

They split into two teams and played a friendly match with each other, which ended with Cas against the rest of the team, all of them unsuccessful in trying to stop him from scoring. He did a victory lap of the pitch, and Roger looked very pleased.

Dean met Cas outside once they were done. He hadn't changed out of his robes yet, and seemed reluctant to do so.

'Feeling better?' Dean asked him as they walked back to the castle together.

'Not really,' Cas admitted. 'I wanted to practice though.'

'Going back to the hospital wing, then?'

'No, I'll come up with you. Will you be all right working by yourself for a while?'

'Yeah, sure.'

When they arrived, Fred and George were demonstrating some of their Skiving Snack boxes, which Hermione clearly disapproved of with loud tutts.

'Just go and stop them, then,' Harry said irritably.

'I can't, they're not _technically_ doing anything wrong,' Hermione said through gritted teeth. 'They're quite within their rights to eat the foul things themselves and I can't find a rule that says the other idiots aren't entitled to buy them, not unless they're proven to be dangerous in some way.'

'They aren't,' Cas said, from his comfortable spot curled up in an armchair. 'I've tested them, and I have all the antidotes just in case.'

' _You_ tested them?' Dean asked.

'Not like that. My mother made antidotes, she showed me how to test poisons.'

'Oh,' Dean said, glancing at Sherlock, who had also noticed Cas's almost casual mention of his mother.

It was a long while before the crowd around the Weasley twins finally dispersed, and even longer before they finished counting their takings from the evening.

Dean finished his essay and Cas took it from him to check over. He sat with it in his hands, but his eyes were glazed and stayed in the same spot on the parchment.

'Cas,' Dean prompted gently.

Cas closed his eyes and sighed. 'I'm sorry,' he said, giving Dean his essay back.

'That's okay, it's not due yet, we can look at it another time. Besides, I'm pretty confident about this one.'

'Oh, are you?' Cas said, smiling at him.

'Uh huh,' Dean grinned, leaning on the chair.

Just then, there was a soft _pop,_ and Sirius's head appeared in the fire.

'Hi,' Sirius said, and they all crowded closer to the fire. 'How're things?'

'Not that good,' said Harry. 'The Ministry's forced through another decree, which means we're not allowed Quidditch teams-'

'Or secret Defence Against the Dark Arts groups?' said Sirius.

'How did you know about that?' Harry demanded.

'You want to choose your meeting places more carefully. The Hog's Head, I ask you.'

'Well, it was better than the Three Broomsticks!' Hermione said defensively. 'That's always packed with people -'

'Which means you'd have been harder to overhear,' said Sirius. 'You've got a lot to learn, Hermione.'

'Who overheard us?' said Harry.

'Mundungus, of course,' said Sirius, and when they all looked puzzled he laughed. 'He was the witch under the veil.'

'That was Mundungus?' Harry said, stunned. 'What was he doing in the Hog's Head?'

'What do you think he was doing? Keeping an eye on you, of course.'

'I'm still being followed?' Harry asked angrily.

'Yeah, you are,' said Sirius, 'and just as well, isn't it, if the first thing you're going to do on your weekend off is organise an illegal defence group.'

But he looked neither angry nor worried. On the contrary, he was looking at Harry with distinct pride.

'Why was Dung hiding from us?' asked Ron, sounding disappointed. 'We'd have liked to see him.'

'He was banned from the Hog's Head twenty years ago, and that batman's got a long memory. We lost Moody's spare Invisibility Cloak when Sturgis got arrested, so Dung's been dressing as a witch a lot lately… anyway…first of all, Ron, I've sworn to pass on a message from your mother.'

'Oh yeah?' Ron said apprehensively.

'She says on no account whatsoever are you to take part in an illegal Defence Against the Dark Arts group. She says you'll be expelled for sure and your future will be ruined. She says there'll be plenty of time to learn how to defend yourself later and that you are too young to be worrying about that right now. She also advised the rest of you not to proceed with the group, though she accepts she has no authority over any of you, and simply begs you to remember she has your best interests at heart. She would have written all this to you, but if the owl had been intercepted you'd all have been in real trouble, and she can't say it for herself because she's on duty tonight.'

'On duty doing what?' Ron said quickly.

'Never you mind, just stuff for the Order,' said Sirius.

John made a noise of discomfort from the sofa he was sitting and they all turned to see him rubbing his chest, wincing.

'What is it?' said Sherlock.

'Er… nothing, it's nothing.'

Ron turned back to Sirius. 'So you want me to say I'm not going to take part in the Defence group?'

'Me? Certainly not! I think it's an excellent idea!'

'You do?' said Harry.

'Of course I do!' said Sirius. 'D'you think your father and I would've lain down and taken orders from an old hag like Umbridge?'

'But - last term all you did was tell me to be careful and not to take risks-'

'Last year, all the evidence was that someone inside Hogwarts was trying to kill you, Harry!' Sirius said impatiently. 'This year, we know there's someone outside Hogwarts who'd like to kill us all, so I think learning to defend yourselves is a very good idea!'

'And if we do get expelled?' Hermione asked.

'Hermione, this was all your idea!' said Harry.

'I know it was. I just wondered what Sirius thought.'

'Well, better expelled and able to defend yourselves than sitting safely in school without a clue. How are you organising this group anyway? Where are you meeting?'

'Well, that's a bit of a problem now,' said Harry. 'Dunno where we're going to be able to go.'

'How about the Shrieking Shack?' Sirius suggested.

'No,' Cas and Dean said immediately, and everyone stared at them.

'There isn't room,' Cas mumbled.

'It's our secret makeout spot,' Dean grinned and Cas blushed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Well, Cas is right, there isn't space, and how would we get so many people across the grounds without anyone noticing?'

'Fair point,' said Sirius. 'Well, I'm sure you'll think of somewhere. There used to be a pretty roomy secret passage behind that big mirror on the fourth floor, you might have enough space to practise jinxes back there.'

'Fred and George told me it's blocked,' said Harry, shaking his head. 'Caved in or something.'

'Oh…' said Sirius, frowning. 'Well, I'll have to think and get back-'

He broke off. His face was suddenly tense, alarmed. He turned sideways, apparently looking into the solid brick wall of the fireplace.

'Sirius?' Harry said anxiously.

But he had vanished. Then Hermione gave a horrified gasp and leapt to her feet, staring at the fire.

A hand appeared, groping around amongst the flames. A stubby, short-fingered hand, covered in ugly old-fashioned rings.

They all ran for it, but Cas stopped outside the boys' dormitory.

' _Cas!'_ Dean hissed. 'What are you doing?'

Cas just shook his head, looking at Dean with wide, terrified, glowing blue eyes.

'Okay,' he whispered, pulling Cas around a corner, so he was at least out of sight of the fireplace. 'Just breathe, Cas, you can do it. Control it.'

Cas forced himself to breathe normally, but it didn't seem to be working. 'Dean, I can't,' he whispered in a slightly strangled voice.

'Yes, you can,' Dean said firmly. He carefully poked his head around the stairs, but Umbridge's hand was still swiping around in the fireplace, trying to catch hold of Sirius's hair.

The wall cracked behind Cas and he whimpered.

'It's okay,' Dean whispered. 'It's just a wall, it's no big deal. I'm sure the castle is held up by magic anyway, you can't hurt it. Just focus on you.'

Cas nodded, trying his very best not to cry and control himself.

'You've got this.'

Dean peeked at the fire again. 'Okay, it's clear, come on.'

They ran back down the stairs, but Cas stumbled and fell at the bottom, no longer able to talk or move, desperate to keep his escaping power under control.

Dean knelt next to him and looked around, spotting the pile of logs next to the fireplace. 'Okay, see those logs?' he said. 'Can you break them up and move them into the fire? Maybe it'll help relieve the pressure.'

Cas screwed his eyes shut, and with great effort, lifted his arm. The logs began to split and float into the fire. Cas let out a breath and dragged himself onto his knees. Dean helped him up the rest of the way.

'Let's get you outside.'

Cas struggled all the way down to the Entrance Hall. 'I can't make it stop,' he gasped, stumbling again once they were outside.

'Just let it go, Cas,' Dean said, sitting him on the grass. 'No one will see you, everyone's asleep.'

Cas shook his head, but there was no other choice.

Dean closed his eyes, and a pulse of power sent him flying backwards. He waited until the blazing light searing through his eyelids dissipated before opening them again, and he scrambled back to Cas.

'I'm sorry,' Cas mumbled. 'Are you hurt?'

'No,' Dean said. 'Do you want to go inside, or do you want to go to the Shrieking Shack?'

Cas nodded his head towards the Whomping Willow and they both slowly climbed through the tunnel for the second time that day. Cas finally lay on his bed, exhausted, and Dean hunted around for somewhere else to sleep, finding another bed that he assumed was Gabriel's. It took a while for him to fall asleep, his mind buzzing with ideas.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to hhhellcat and Sam_the_Skald for the comments! See you again soon :)


	17. Dumbledore's Army

Dumbledore’s Army

  
  


Dean sat in Charms thinking hard the next day, hardly even attempting to Silence the bullfrog sitting on the desk in front of him. He and Cas had left the Shrieking Shack early that morning, and he had tried to convince Cas to take the day off, to no avail. Having two attacks in the same day had clearly taken its toll on Cas, but he was intent upon not missing anymore classes, so he sat quietly beside Dean, pretending that he wasn’t shaking the whole way through the lesson. Dean planned on asking John and Sherlock to keep an eye of Cas for him, but neither of them looked up to doing much either.

He was eventually snapped out of his reverie by a gentle nudge from Cas.

‘Hm?’ He looked up and saw Professor Flitwick staring at him expectantly. ‘Oh. _Silencio.’_ The bullfrog fell completely silent mid-croak.

‘Very good, Mr Winchester,’ Professor Flitwick squeaked. ‘Now let’s see you try, Mr Weasley.’

‘Wha-? Oh, oh right.’ Ron jabbed at his bullfrog so hard he poked it in the eye. It gave a loud croak and jumped off the desk.

They were all given an essay to do by Professor Flitwick, and Harry and Ron had extra homework to practice the Silencing Charm.

Cas pulled Dean aside at the end of the lesson, looking nervously at his feet. ‘I wondered if - if you could study on your own after classes today,’ he said quietly. ‘I think I should perhaps get some rest.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Dean said.

‘I’ll be in the hospital wing if you need anything.’

‘Why don’t you just go now?’ Dean encouraged. ‘You can’t be learning much if you feel this bad anyway.’

Cas shrugged. ‘Professor Umbridge is watching me.’

‘Screw her,’ Dean said angrily. ‘Getting better is more important than her crappy lessons.’

‘Please keep your voice down,’ Cas said, looking around anxiously. ‘I understand, Dean, but I just can’t miss any more. Not until she stops watching me. I’m a prefect, I’m supposed to set a good example, not skip classes whenever I feel like it.’

‘Cas, you’re not skipping classes for no reason, you’re not doing anything wrong.’

‘Dean, please, I have to go.’

‘All right, all right, just-’

‘Don’t push it, I know.’

Dean watched him go, troubled.

They were allowed to stay inside for break that day, due to the driving wind and rain, but instead of heading to the empty classroom that they had been allowed to use, Dean ran up to the dormitory and dug through his trunk. He found what he was looking for and smiled, shoving a small glass jar into his bag before hurrying back downstairs.

The weather only worsened as the day wore on, and though Harry and Ron were ecstatic to hear that the Gryffindor Quidditch team had been given permission to reform, it soon sunk in that they would have to play in the miserably, stormy weather. They were allowed to stay inside for lunch too, but Dean found a room on his own, so he could concentrate.

He pulled out the empty jar and placed it on a table in front of him. After casting an Unbreakable Charm, he threw every spell he could think of on it, until he was satisfied that it really wouldn’t break. He carried it around with him the rest of the day, hoping to give it to Cas at dinner, but Cas didn’t appear. Dean badly wanted to go and find him, but he knew that Cas must be feeling really bad if he went as far as to ask for a break from studying, so he reluctantly climbed up to Gryffindor Tower instead. It was quieter than usual, since the Gryffindor Quidditch team were down at practice. Dean laid out his homework on a table near the window, but found himself struggling. He bit his lip and looked around the room for inspiration. His gaze landed on Hermione.

‘Hermione, can you come here a sec?’ he called to her. ‘I need your help with something.’

Hermione gave him a puzzled look, but sat at the table in front of him.

Dean quickly glanced around the room to make sure no one was eavesdropping. He was becoming more and more confident, and less embarrassed by his reading ability, but that didn’t mean he wanted everyone to know, so he lowered his voice. ‘So, uh, Cas has been helping me to read,’ he told her, ignoring her raised eyebrows. ‘He says I have… uh, what did he call it? Dyslexia, I think.’

Hermione nodded in understanding.

‘Uh, anyway, Cas isn’t here, so I was wondering if you could help me with some of these words?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Hermione was bossier than Cas, but, to her credit, she didn’t pick at Dean as she did with the others. It was a very different style, but Dean found that he appreciated it just as much as Cas’s gentle nudges in the right direction.

‘This is really good, Dean,’ she said, reading through his Transfiguration essay once it was finished. ‘It’s concise, well informed… I think Professor McGonagall will be really pleased with this.’

‘Thanks, Hermione,’ Dean grinned, rolling it up and putting it in his bag.

It was late by the time he was finished, so he stood up, stretched widely, and went to bed.

Despite his good mood, the nightmares still came for Dean. They were always the same. He or Sam attacked by something. Blood everywhere. Then he would wake up sweating and breathing heavily.

He sat up and rubbed his face tiredly. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep for a while, so he quietly shuffled out of bed and tiptoed downstairs. At least he could sit in front of the fire, but when he got down there, he saw Harry asleep at one of the tables, his homework still in front of him, and John was curled up on the sofa, sniffling quietly.

‘Hey, insomnia buddies,’ Dean said, pointing at John, then sitting next to him. ‘What’s up? Where’s Sherlock?’

‘I don’t know where he is,’ John shrugged. ‘He said he had to do something.’

‘Bad vision?’

John nodded, lip wobbling.

‘Do you wanna talk about it?’

John wiped his cheeks. ‘I keep seeing someone getting attacked by Nagini, but I can’t see who it is, or when it’ll happen, or where they are even. It’s so dark, and it burns… What’s the point in all this if I can’t help them?’

‘Who says there _is_ a point?’ Dean asked.

‘The centaurs,’ John told him. ‘I’m supposed to do _something.’_

‘I dunno, centaurs can be a little kooky. Why don’t you go ask them?’

‘I can’t. The Ministry restricted their lands again, so it’s dangerous for people to be around them right now.’

‘Even for you?’

‘Even for me,’ John nodded. ‘It’s probably worse for me, to be honest. Some of them still resent their “Oracle” being human. What about you, what are you doing up?’

‘The usual. Bad dreams.’

‘Yeah… How’s Cas?’

‘Better, I think. He’s taking some time for himself, which I think is a good step.’

Just then, Sherlock came through the portrait hole, holding a thick, fluffy blanket.

John smiled at him, and Dean got up so Sherlock could sit next to him.

‘What’s this?’ John asked, as Sherlock sat down and tucked them both under the blanket.

Sherlock fussed over the blanket a bit more, then finally pulled out a crystal ball.

‘Oh, Sherlock, I don’t want to look at it,’ John frowned, relaxing into Sherlock’s chest.

‘I think you need to try it. These visions of Nagini are bothering you, we need to see if we can find out what it’s about. I’m right here.’

John sighed and took the crystal ball from him, then glanced uncertainly up at Dean.

‘Hey, I’m not even here,’ Dean said, shifting so he was facing the fire in one of the comfy armchairs, but watched John out of the corner of his eye, unable to resist his curiosity.

John sat up straighter, but still leaning against Sherlock, and squinted at the crystal ball. Neither of them spoke, but Sherlock stared at John intently, jaw clenched and eyebrow twitching. John bit his lip, holding the ball close to his face until his hands started shaking too hard for him to keep his grip on it. Sherlock took it from him and put it back into its velvet bag, and John slumped against him, eyes closed, shaking his head.

‘Nothing,’ he mumbled. ‘I keep getting stuck on Nagini, and she feels gross.’

‘Do you guys need anything?’ Dean asked.

‘No, thank you, Dean,’ Sherlock said, adjusting John, who was rapidly falling asleep, into a more comfortable position.

Dean was considering going back to bed himself, when there was a _crack,_ and Dobby the house-elf appeared in the middle of the room, Hedwig on his tiny arm. His large, pointed ears were sticking out from underneath what looked like every item of clothing Hermione had made.

‘Harry Potter, sir!’ Dobby squeaked, standing next to Harry’s table.

Harry woke with a start, looking around blearily. ‘Wha-?’

‘Dobby has your owl, sir!’

‘Dobby?’ Harry said thickly, peering at him.

‘Dobby volunteered to return Harry Potter’s owl,’ Dobby said. ‘Professor Grubbly-Plank says she is all well now, sir.’

Hedwig gave a soft hoot and fluttered onto the arm of Harry’s chair.

‘Thanks, Dobby!’ said Harry, stroking Hedwig’s head. ‘Er… have you been taking _all_ the clothes Hermione and Cas have been leaving out?’

‘Oh, no, sir,’ Dobby said happily. ‘Dobby has been taking some for Winky and Melly, too, sir.’

‘Melly?’ Sherlock said, confused.

‘Oh, yes, sir. Melly likes to visit Hogwarts sometimes, sir.’

‘How is Winky?’ Harry asked.

Dobby’s ears drooped slightly. ‘Winky is still drinking lots, sir,’ he said sadly. ‘She still does not care for clothes, Harry Potter. Nor do the other house-elves. None of the will clean Gryffindor Tower anymore, not with the hats and socks hidden everywhere, they finds them insulting, sir. Dobby does not mind, sir, for he always hopes to meet Harry Potter and tonight, sir, he has got his wish!’ Dobby sank into a deep bow. ‘But Harry Potter does not seem happy,’ Dobby said timidly. ‘Dobby wishes he could help Harry Potter, for Harry Potter set Dobby free and Dobby is much, much happier now.’

Harry smiled at him. ‘You can’t help me, Dobby, but thanks for the offer.’ Harry bent to pick up the Potions book he’d dropped, but stopped half way, looking up at Dobby. ‘Wait a moment - there _is_ something you can do,’ he said slowly.

Dobby beamed at him. ‘Name it, Harry Potter, sir!’

‘I need to find a place where thirty-four people can practise Defence Against the Dark Arts without being found out by a teacher. Especially Professor Umbridge.’

Dean straightened, watching Dobby with interest.

Dobby gave a little skip, his ears waggling cheerfully, and clapped his hands together. ‘Dobby knows the perfect place, sir!’ he said happily. ‘Dobby heard tell of it from the other house-elves when he came to Hogwarts, sir. It is known by us as the Come and Go Room, sir, or else, the Room of Requirement!’

‘Why?’ Harry asked curiously.

‘Because it is a room that a person can only enter when they have real need of it. Sometimes it is there, sometimes it is not, but when it appears, it is always equipped with the seeker’s needs. Dobby has used it, sir.’ Dobby dropped his voice, looking guilty. ‘When Winky has been very drunk, he has hidden her in the Room of Requirement and he has found antidotes to Butterbeer there, and a nice elf-sized bed to settle her on while she sleeps it off, sir… and Dobby knows Mr Filch has found extra cleaning materials in there when he has run shirt, sir. It is the most amazing room, sir.’

‘How many people know about it?’ Dean asked eagerly.

‘Very few, sir. Most people stumbles across it when they needs it, sir, but often they never finds it again, for they do not know that it is always there waiting to be called into service, sir.’

‘Hey, you heard of it?’ Dean said, turning to Sherlock, who was watching Dobby with great interest.

‘Yes,’ said Sherlock. ‘It exists, but I have so far not been able to find it.’

‘It sounds brilliant,’ said Harry. ‘It sounds perfect, Dobby. When can you show us where it is?’

‘Any time, Harry Potter, sir,’ said Dobby, looking delighted at Harry’s enthusiasm. ‘We could go now, if you like!’

‘Not tonight, Dobby,’ Harry said, sinking down in his chair. ‘This is really important… I don’t want to blow it, it’ll need proper planning. Can you just tell us exactly how to get to the Room of Requirement?’

  
  


Dean and Harry were up early the next morning, and walked down to breakfast together, discussing what they were going to teach. Cas joined them at the Gryffindor table, looking well-rested.

‘Hey,’ Dean said, lowering his voice. ‘We’re having our first meeting tonight. Eight o’clock, seventh floor opposite that tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being whacked by those trolls. Will you tell the other Ravenclaws on the list?’

‘Of course,’ Cas said.

‘Oh, and will you meet me at that empty classroom on the second floor at lunch? I want to talk to you about something.’

‘Oh,’ Cas said, surprised. ‘All right.’

Cas didn’t eat any breakfast that morning, but he seemed perfectly comfortable sitting with Dean while he ate his bowl of cereal.

Dean and Harry then spent their morning lessons convincing Hermione that the Room of Requirement was legitimate, and tracking down everyone on the list to let them know about the meeting, without Umbridge noticing.

Harry was getting the message to the Gryffindor Quidditch team at lunch, but Dean took a break from it, grabbed a sandwich, and took the stairs up to the second floor, two at a time, eager as he was to finally give Cas the glass jar. He got there first, and made himself sit down to wait, knee bouncing in anticipation.

When Cas arrived, he was flushed and flustered, but he had an excited glimmer in his eyes.

‘You wanted to see me?’ he said, sitting on the end of one of the desks.

‘Yeah, I’ve got something for you,’ Dean grinned. He finally took out the jar and handed it to Cas.

‘Uh… Thank you, Dean, it’s… it’s a nice jar,’ Cas said, holding it awkwardly.

Dean laughed. ‘It’s not just a jar. Do you remember how you broke up those logs when you got stuck in the common room, and how it made you feel a little better?’

‘Yes,’ Cas said warily.

‘Well, I thought it might help if you could do that if you got stuck in class or something. So I charmed this jar. I tested it, and I think it can take it, but I’m guessing your magic is a little different from regular wizards’ magic. So, why don’t you give it a try? And if it works, you can keep it with you, so you can let it out safely, until you can get to the Shrieking Shack.’

Cas bit his lip, so Dean poked his head outside the door to make sure there was no one in the corridor.

‘Everyone’s at lunch,’ Dean reassured him. ‘No one’s around, just give it a try.’

Cas nodded and stood up, placing the jar on the desk and stepping away from it. He raised an arm and focused entirely on the jar. His eyes glowed slightly, and there was a faint, high-pitched whine. He then lowered his arm and blinked. Nothing had happened.

‘It’s working!’ Dean said.

‘It is,’ Cas said in disbelief.

‘Awesome. Well, you can keep that, I figure you can keep it in your bag, or if you put an Undetectable Extension Charm on your pocket, it’ll fit in there, and you can have it whenever you need.’

Cas held it in his hand and stared at it. ‘Thank you, Dean,’ he said quietly, before finally tucking it away in his bag. ‘I have something for you too.’

‘Oh, really?’

Cas nodded, pulled a small box out of his bag, and passed it to Dean.

He opened it up, and inside was a pair of glasses.

‘I figured out how to alter the charms,’ Cas said, a note of pride entering his voice. ‘They’re not prescription, they’re just plain glass, but you can read anything with these, without having to wait for me to put the charms on the book.’

‘No way!’ Dean said, putting them on immediately. ‘How do I look?’

‘They suit you,’ Cas smiled. ‘Here, try them with this.’ He gave Dean his own copy of _The Standard Book of Spells,_ that hadn’t been charmed for Dean to read.

Dean eagerly read through the first page. ‘This is so cool, I bet I could even read Snape’s chalkboard now.’

‘Yes, I believe you could,’ Cas smiled.

Dean looked up and caught Cas gazing at him. ‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Cas said hurriedly. ‘Sorry.’

‘You don’t need to be sorry,’ Dean said. ‘You’re cute.’ He bit back a laugh as Cas turned pink. ‘Anyway, we should get back to the Great Hall. You hungry?’

‘Yes, I am.’

Dean put his glasses away and they went down to the Great Hall together, where Cas ate a whole bowl of soup, before he went on his patrol.

The rest of them waited in the common room until half past seven, when Harry opened the Marauder’s Map and checked where Filch, Mrs Norris, and all the teachers were. They hurried up to the seventh floor, to the blank bit of wall that Dobby had described.

‘Dobby said to walk past here three times, thinking about what we need,’ Harry said.

Hermione nodded, and she, Harry and Ron gave it a try.

‘Oh, I think it’s working,’ John said, on their third pass.

They stopped walking and looked at the polished door that had appeared in the wall. Harry seized the handle and led the way into a spacious room lit with flickering torches.

The walls were lined with wooden bookcases and instead of chairs, there were large silk cushions on the floor. A set of shelves on the far end of the room carried a range of instruments such as Sneakoscopes, Secrecy Sensors, and a large, cracked Foe-Glass.

‘These will be good for when we’re practising Stunning,’ Dean said, prodding one of the cushions with his foot.

‘And just look at these books!’ Hermione said excitedly, running a finger along the spines of the large, leather-bound tomes. ‘This is wonderful, there’s everything we need here!’

Then there was a gentle knock at the door, and Ginny, Neville, Lavender, Parvati, Seamus and Dean Thomas had arrived.

‘Whoa,’ said Seamus, ‘what is this place?’

‘I’ll explain once everyone’s arrived,’ Harry said.

The room began to fill, people arriving in groups of twos and threes. Dean craned his neck over their heads, but Cas hadn’t arrived yet.

‘This is so cool!’ said Sam, when he came in with Colin and Dennis Creevey, then gave Dean a thumbs up before sitting on one of the cushions.

Dean bit his lip and was just about to ask Harry for the Marauder’s Map, when Cas finally arrived with Padma Patil.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ said Padma, ‘some third years were trying to steal the Venomous Tentacula from the greenhouse.’

Cas smiled at Dean and sat down near one of the bookcases.

‘I think that’s everyone,’ Dean said to Harry, doing a quick headcount.

Harry nodded and addressed the room. ‘Well, we’ve been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and - er - what, Hermione?’ he said, noticing Hermione’s hand in the air.

‘I think we ought to elect a leader,’ said Hermione.

‘Harry’s the leader,’ Cho Chang said at once.

‘What about Dean?’ Sam said indignantly.

‘It’s fine, I’m just here to help teach, I don’t mind if Harry’s the leader,’ said Dean, failing to ignore the smile still on Castiel’s face.

‘I think we ought to vote on it properly,’ said Hermione. ‘It makes it formal and it gives him authority. So - everyone who thinks Harry should be our leader?’

Everyone put their hand up.

‘Er - right, thanks. And - _what,_ Hermione?’

‘I also think we should have a name,’ she said brightly, her hand still in the air. ‘It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don’t you think?’

Dean caught Cas’s eye and hid his amusement behind his hand.

‘Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League,’ Angelina Johnson said hopefully.

‘Or the Ministry of Magic are Morons Group?’ suggested Fred.

‘I was thinking,’ said Hermione, frowning at Fred, ‘more of a name that didn’t tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings.’

‘The Defence Association?’ said Cho. ‘The DA for short, so no one knows what we’re talking about?’

‘Yeah, the DA’s good,’ said Ginny. ‘Only, let’s make it stand for Dumbledore’s Army, because that’s the Ministry’s worst fear, isn’t it?’

There was a good deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this.

‘All in favour of the DA?’ said Hermione bossily, kneeling up on her cushion to count. ‘That’s a majority - motion passed!’

John then caused a minor distraction by momentarily passing out on his cushion. ‘I’m all right,’ he mumbled when he sat up again, leaning on Sherlock. ‘Carry on.’

Hermione pinned the piece of parchment with all their names on to the wall and wrote across it in large letters:

  
  


_DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY_

  
  


‘Right,’ Harry said, when she sat down again, ‘shall we get practising, then? The first thing we should do is _Expelliarmus,_ you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it’s pretty basic but I’ve found it really useful-’

‘Oh, _please,’_ said Zacharias Smith, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. ‘I don’t think _Expelliarmus_ is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?’

‘I’ve used it against him,’ Harry said quietly. ‘It saved my life in June. But if you think it’s beneath you, you can leave.’

Smith did not move, nor did anyone else.

‘All right, then,’ Dean said, clapping his hands together. ‘Everyone get into pairs, grab out your wands. Cas, you’re with me.’

Everyone quickly sorted themselves into pairs. Neville ended up with Harry, and Cas looked thoroughly relieved to be paired with Dean.

‘Right, on the count of three, then,’ said Harry. ‘One - two - three -’

The air was filled with cries of ‘ _Expelliarmus!’_ Wands went flying, missed spells hit the bookcases, knocking books around.

Cas was the only one that hesitated, but Dean didn’t fire a spell at him either.

‘Come on,’ Dean encouraged. ‘Hit me.’

Cas bit his lip, raised his wand, and said, ‘ _Expelliarmus,’_ but it was so weak that Dean’s wand only wobbled slightly in his hand.

‘Try it again,’ Dean said.

Cas lowered his wand. ‘I can’t,’ he said.

‘Why not?

Cas just shook his head.

Dean looked around for a quiet place to talk to Cas, and saw a screen appear in a far corner of the room. ‘Okay, come with me.’ He walked towards it, tapping Harry’s shoulder. ‘I’ll just be a sec.’

Harry nodded, watching Neville concentrating on his wand with his tongue sticking out.

There were a couple of comfortable seats behind the screen, so Dean made Cas sit down.

‘What’s going on?’ Dean asked, and Cas stared down at his hands folded in his lap.

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Cas mumbled. ‘I can’t stop my power from messing up my offensive spells.’

Dean sighed. ‘Okay, Cas, listen to me. I don’t want to scare you, but if you ever do have to fight with a Death Eater, or a Demon, or something, you can’t hold back, ‘cause they won’t. You need to use every advantage you have, and I’d say you have a pretty big one.’

Cas nodded.

‘And look, we’re in a controlled environment, and you or Madam Pomfrey can always heal me. It’s important that you practice for real, Cas. And I think it would be good for you to get a handle on how your powers interact anyway, so what do you say? Will you give it another try? Properly this time?’

Cas took a deep breath. ‘All right.’

‘Awesome, let’s go.’

They went back to their spot and Dean stood in front of Cas, smiling encouragingly.

‘You’ve got this, go for it.’

Cas nodded and raised his wand once again. ‘ _Expelliarmus!’_

The spell hit Dean full force and threw him into the air, spinning into one of the bookcases and falling to the floor with a thump.

The room fell silent as everyone turned to stare at Dean lying on the floor, winded.

‘Whoa,’ he said, sitting up. ‘That was real good, Cas. Wow. Can’t wait to see what you’ll do with a Stunner.’

‘You’re bleeding,’ Cas said in alarm, kneeling down next to Dean.

Dean touched a hand to the back of his head and felt a wetness, where his head had connected with the wooden bookcase.

‘Let me…’ Cas touched his wand to Dean’s head and healed the wound.

‘Thanks,’ Dean said, getting to his feet.

By now, the others had turned their attention back to their own spells.

‘Wow. Cool. Do you wanna do it again?’ Dean asked Cas. ‘Where’s my wand?’

‘No,’ Cas said, picking Dean’s wand up and passing it back to him. ‘Will you - will you do it to me?’

Dean blinked in surprise. ‘What for? I don’t need to practise it.’

‘I think I should know what it’s like.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I trust you.’

Dean smiled. ‘Okay, do you want me to count down?’

Cas nodded.

‘All right, here I go. One - two - three - _Expelliarmus.’_

Cas’s wand flew out of his hand and Dean reached up to catch it, passing it back straight away.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘Awesome. Okay, take a break, I’m gonna go round and see how everyone’s doing.’

Dean took one half of the room and Harry the other, and went around correcting and encouraging.

The Creevey brothers were both very enthusiastic, but they flourished their wands far too much, causing several books to fly off the bookcases instead of each others’ wands. They both seemed very excited to be Disarmed by Sam, who appeared to master the spell quite quickly.

Harry then blew a whistle and everyone lowered their wands.

‘That wasn’t bad,’ he said, ‘but there’s definite room for improvement. Let’s try again.’

Dean walked around the edge of the room, and was pleased to see the performance improving as he and Harry made suggestions and adjusted stances or grips on wands. He watched from a distance as Sherlock amused himself by Disarming random people, and avoiding John’s attempts.

‘You’re meant to stand still!’ John said exasperatedly.

‘You know perfectly well how to Disarm,’ Sherlock said, rolling his eyes and Disarming Zacharias Smith.

‘Oh yeah? Let me prove it, then.’ John aimed, but Sherlock once again stepped aside, causing John’s spell to ricochet and catch Alicia Spinnet from behind, her wand spinning and hitting Katie Bell in the face. ‘You git,’ said John.

‘I know.’

Dean laughed, and continued on, eventually finding his way back to Cas’s side.

Cas was sitting on his cushion, quietly reading one of the books he’d found, and hugging the jar Dean had given him.

‘Do you need to go?’ Dean asked him, crouching down and lowering his voice.

‘No,’ Cas smiled. ‘Could I try the spell again?’

‘Sure,’ Dean grinned, waiting while Cas put the jar away.

Being thrown across the room was hardly Dean’s favourite activity, but he was happy as long as it was helping Cas.

Eventually, Harry blew his whistle again, and everyone stopped shouting ‘ _Expelliarmus’._

‘That was really good,’ Harry said, ‘but we’ve overrun, so we’d better leave it there. Same time next week?’

‘Sooner!’ Dean Thomas said eagerly, and there were many nods of agreement.

Angeline, however, said quickly, ‘The Quidditch season’s about to start, we need team practices too!’

‘Let’s say next Wednesday night, then,’ said Harry, ‘and we can decide on future meetings then. Come on, we’d better get going.’

Harry pulled out the Map again, and let them all out in small groups.

Dean left with Cas and walked with him away from the Room of Requirement.

‘So, what did you think?’ Dean asked him.

‘I thought it went well,’ said Cas. ‘You’re a good teacher.’

‘Thanks.’ Dean grinned, then said, ‘Oh,’ as Cas stopped in front of the silver swan painting, ‘you’re going up to Ravenclaw tonight?’

Cas nodded. ‘I just need some space,’ he said apologetically.

‘Yeah. Yeah, totally.’

‘Will you come and watch me at Quidditch practice tomorrow?’

‘Absolutely. See you tomorrow, Cas.’

‘Goodnight, Dean.’

Dean waited until Cas had disappeared behind the painting and wandered back to Gryffindor Tower, whistling with a spring in his step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to VegasGranny and hhhellcat for the comments!
> 
> just so you guys know, I just got a promotion at work. I'll try and keep up my current pace, but I don't know what the workload will be like yet. I'll do as much as I can and hopefully I'll see you again soon!


	18. The Lion and the Serpent

The Lion and the Serpent

  
  


Dean carried the success of the DA around like a warm glow in his chest over the next two weeks. He spent a portion of each meeting with Cas, coaching him on the offensive spells and helping him overcome his fears, just as he had with Cas’s potion making. Cas mastered the Impediment Jinx, and Dean was stuck in one spot for ten minutes, though Cas struggled with the Reductor Curse, refusing to cast it after his first attempt demolished half of the room. On the whole, though, Dean caught more smiles and lingering gazes from Cas as he wandered around the room, checking on everyone else.

By the third meeting, Dean was getting desperate. He dropped more and more obvious hints to Cas, but Cas did not appear to notice his interest at all.

Dean sidled up to John half way through a meeting under the pretence of helping him with the Impediment jinx.

‘Hey, so… I can’t get a read on Cas,’ Dean muttered. ‘I was wondering if you could…?’

‘What, use my power to tell you whether or not Cas fancies you?’ John said with a raised eyebrow.

‘Well… yeah.’

John lowered his wand. ‘First of all, you don’t need to be a Seer to know that. Second of all, it would be really rude of me to invade his privacy like that, and third of all, how many times do I have to tell you that I can’t See Cas?’

‘Wait, wait, go back to that first thing?’

‘Dean,’ John sighed.

‘Okay, okay… what do I do now?’

John rolled his eyes. ‘How should I know? Aren’t you supposed to be good at this sort of thing?’

‘All right, fine,’ Dean sighed. He began to walk away.

‘Dean, wait,’ said John, calling him back with a slightly glazed over expression. ‘...Ask him when it’s snowing.’

Dean grinned. ‘Awesome. Thanks, John.’

  
  


With the first Quidditch match of the season rapidly approaching, the meetings began more and more difficult to organise, as Angelina insisted on almost daily practices for the Gryffindor team.

Hermione soon devised a clever method of communicating the time and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to change it at short notice. It was a regular occurrence to see Sherlock and Castiel leaving the Ravenclaw table to come to talk to them, but it would look suspicious if too many people of different Houses went back and forth to talk to each other too often.

Hermione gave each of the DA members a fake Galleon. ‘You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?’ she said, holding one up for examination. ‘On real Galleons that’s just a serial number referring to the goblin that cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will get hot when the date changes, so if you’re carrying them in your pocket you’ll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting he’ll change the numbers on _his_ coin, and because I’ve put a Protean Charm on them, they’ll all change to mimic his.’

A blank silence greeted Hermione’s words.

‘Well - I thought it was a good idea,’ she said uncertainly, ‘I mean, even if Umbridge asked us to turn out our pockets, there’s nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon, is there? But… well, if you don’t want to use them - ‘

‘You can do the Protean Charm?’ said Terry Boot.

‘Yes,’ said Hermione.

‘But that… that’s NEWT standard, that is,’ he said weakly.

‘Oh…’ said Hermione, trying to look modest. ‘Oh… well… yes, I suppose it is.’

‘How come you’re not in Ravenclaw with brains like yours?’ Terry demanded.

‘The Sorting Hat did consider putting me in Ravenclaw, but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So, does that mean we’re using the Galleons?’

There was a general murmur of assent and everyone put their Galleons away.

Sherlock muttered something under his breath and John rolled his eyes.

‘Yes, you’re very smart too, I’m sure you could easily do that spell,’ he said, and Dean snorted.

  
  


Dean’s marks in all his lessons improved dramatically as soon as he started wearing his glasses. He could finally start focussing on the material he was reading, and even got a rare smile from Professor McGonagall. The only problem came when he was working in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Umbridge came over to his desk.

‘Yes, Professor?’ he frowned, looking up from his book.

‘Where did you get those glasses?’ she asked.

‘What do you mean? These are my glasses, am I not allowed to wear glasses?’

Umbridge held out her hand. ‘They’re clearly helping you cheat. I will be confiscating them.’

Dean begrudgingly took off his glasses and put them in her hand.

‘Detention, Mr Winchester.’

Dean scowled and looked back down at his book. It was almost incomprehensible. The words and letters moved around at will and Dean couldn’t read any more of it that lesson. He was still angry when they went to their next lesson, which was Charms.

‘What’s wrong? Where are your glasses?’ Cas asked.

‘Umbridge took my glasses,’ he mumbled. ‘She said I was cheating.’

To Dean’s great surprise, Cas pounded the desk in front of him and muttered angrily in French.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Meet me in the library at lunch.’

‘Sure.’

Dean was distracted for much of the day after that. Cas’s French always caught him by surprise, but he liked the sound of it; it gave him an idea.

‘Sherlock knows French, doesn’t he?’ Dean asked John during Herbology.

‘Yeah, but I wouldn’t go there,’ John said with an amused smile.

‘Yeah, that’s probably for the best.’

‘I think I know where you’re going with this,’ said John. ‘Maybe you should send an owl to Fleur Delacour. Wasn’t she friends with Cas?’

‘John, you’re the best.’

Dean was in a much better mood by lunch and he hurried up to the library. ‘Hey, Cas, what’s up?’ he said, when he found the table Cas was sitting at.

Cas reached into his bag and pulled out another pair of glasses, with a slightly smug expression.

Dean grinned. ‘That’s how it is, is it?’

Cas nodded and tipped his bag to show Dean that it was almost filled with glasses. ‘I learned a few things from Gabriel.’

‘Awesome,’ Dean laughed, putting on his new pair of glasses. These ones were blue. ‘There’s a way we can improve this though. I think I need fancier glasses.’

Cas smiled. ‘I think I can make that happen.’

From then on, whenever Umbridge confiscated his glasses, he would put on a new, more ostentatious pair of glasses, much to the amusement of Fred and George, who began betting on what sort of glasses Dean would wear next.

He always got detention, but Cas’s help with his homework meant he never fell behind, though the words ‘ _I must not cheat’_ stopped fading from the back of his hand after a time.

‘Why don’t you just go to Professor McGonagall?’ Hermione asked after Dean had donned a fluorescent pink pair of glasses.

‘Because this is way more fun,’ he said. ‘Why? Do you not like my glasses, Hermione?’

‘ _I_ like them, Dean,’ Ginny said from her spot in front of the fire.

‘Well thank you, Ginny,’ Dean grinned. ‘Here, I think these’ll suit you.’ He took off his glasses and gave them to Ginny.

Hermione tutted, then Dean pulled another pair out of his bag. These ones were sunflower yellow and had tiny daisies in the corners.

‘These ones are much more my speed,’ Dean said, laughing at Hermione when she rolled her eyes.

  
  


Tensions grew between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins the closer they got to the match, and the Quidditch pitch was booked so often by either team that the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs hardly ever got a chance to use it. The effect it had on Cas was clear. He became restless and anxious, and when October extinguished itself in a rush of howling wind and driving November rain, a heavy melancholy settled over him. He barely paid attention in class, stopped showing up for meals, and withdrew from most conversations. The only things that brought a smile to his face were his study sessions with Dean and the DA. It was all Dean could do to get him to practice at all, and despite the glass jar that Dean had given him, his disappearances from class were becoming more frequent. Dean tried to keep his spirits up, but his progress in Potions stalled, which worsened his mood.

Dean sat miserably at the Gryffindor table on the morning of the match, poking at his bacon with a fork. Cas wasn’t there, but Dean hadn’t expected him to be. Opposite him, Ron was staring down at the dregs of milk in his bowl of cereal, looking as though he were seriously considering drowning himself in it.

John sat down next to Dean, looking as miserable as Dean felt.

‘No Sherlock?’ Dean asked.

John shrugged. ‘He’s around somewhere.’ He speared a sausage with his fork and took small bites of it.

‘I’m worried about Cas,’ Dean confessed. ‘He was doing so well, what happened?’

John sighed. ‘It’s the time of year, remember?’

Dean closed his eyes. ‘Of course,’ he mumbled. ‘He’s thinking about his mom.’

John nodded. ‘I’ve never seen him this bad about it, though. Second year was quite bad, but…’

Just then, Luna drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few were openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion’s head, which was perched precariously on her head.

‘I’m supporting Gryffindor,’ Luna said, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. ‘Look what it does…’ She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand.

It opened its wide mouth and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump.

‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ Luna said happily. ‘I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, but there wasn’t time. Anyway… good luck, Ronald!’

Dean watched her go. ‘That’s awesome,’ he said, then the Gryffindor team got up from the table. ‘Good luck, Ronald!’ he called after Ron, who gave him a dirty look.

Dean finished his breakfast with John, assuming that Cas would meet them at the pitch, but when Dean climbed into the stands, he couldn’t see Cas anywhere.

‘I don’t know,’ John said before Dean could say anything. He too was craning his neck to see over the crowd, but in search of Sherlock instead. ‘No, they’re not together. Sherlock’s here somewhere.’

Dean had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Cas would never miss Quidditch, so he made his way back out of the stands, thinking about where Cas might be. Madam Pomfrey would have shooed him out of the hospital wing, knowing how much he wanted to watch the match. Dean crawled under the Whomping Willow to check the Shrieking Shack, but it was empty. He sat on the wooden floor for a minute, thinking hard, and decided to check Hagrid’s cabin next. Hagrid hadn’t used it for months, but if Cas really needed it, he could get inside. Dean quietly unlocked the door, but it too was empty.

Stumped, Dean wandered around the grounds. He was just about to climb up to Ravenclaw Tower, when he looked out across the lake and spotted a figure sitting on the end of the dock by the boathouse.

Cas didn’t look up when Dean hurried over to him, nor did he react when Dean pulled his feet out of the water.

‘What are you doing? It’s freezing!’ Dean said, wrapping Cas in his cloak and aiming warm air from his wand at Cas’s soaked feet.

‘It’s not that bad,’ Cas mumbled, drawing his knees up to his chest.

Dean stared at him. ‘It’s today, isn’t it?’ he said, understanding dawning on him.

‘The water’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

Dean looked down at the freezing, dark water lapping at the wooden posts. ‘Yeah, I guess it is. You don’t have to put your feet in it though.’

‘She loved the water.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘That’s the only reason she ever let my father take us out on the lake. He’s not a good sailor.’ Cas glanced over his shoulder at that.

Dean got himself as comfortable as he could sitting next to Cas. It was cold, especially without his cloak, but he knew he should keep Cas company. He didn’t say anything at all, and neither did Cas. They could hear the crowd cheering at the Quidditch pitch in the distance.

At long last, Cas opened his mouth. His voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

‘It was my fault,’ he said, curling up even further, his cheek pressed against his knee.

Dean’s stomach flipped horribly.

‘I killed her.’

‘What? Cas, no, it was an accident.’

Cas shook his head. ‘It was my fault,’ he insisted. ‘We were in the kitchen and I was helping her with the potion she was making. I was supposed to put in chia seeds, but I - I put in black poppy seeds and - and w-when she put in wraith essence…’

Dean didn’t need to hear what happened next.

‘It was all my fault, I didn’t know they were different, and-’ Cas cut himself off and buried his head in his knees.

‘Cas, you were a kid,’ Dean said softly.

‘It doesn’t matter how old I was,’ Cas said, his voice muffled by his knees. ‘It was my fault. She was kind and beautiful, and it’s my fault she’s dead.’

‘Cas-’

‘It’s why Michael hates me, it’s why Gabriel left. I killed her.’

‘Cas, look at me,’ Dean said firmly. ‘It was an accident.’

Cas looked at him with a hollow expression.

Dean sighed. ‘I know what it’s like to think it’s your fault, believe me, but come on, Cas, you were what, five?’

‘You don’t know what it’s like,’ Cas mumbled.

Dean hesitated, then scooched closer to Cas. ‘Let me tell you something,’ he said. ‘When our house burned down, I blamed myself for the longest time. I woke up and grabbed Sam, but I didn’t know how to get out. It was so hot, and the smoke was so thick, there was nowhere to go. The next thing I know, I’m on the front lawn with Sam in my arms, watching the fire. I tried to go back and get my mom but I couldn’t. After that, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I got outside, and how I should have brought her with me. Sam snapped me out of it in the end, but…’ Dean shook his head, ridding himself of all the old feelings of guilt. ‘I was about the same age as you… would you have blamed me?’

Cas shook his head. ‘No, but did you start the fire? It’s not quite the same, Dean.’

‘Why not? You were five, how could you know the difference between chia seeds and poppy seeds? I’m sixteen and I don’t know the difference. Cas, I’m telling you, it’s not your fault. It was an accident, and I guarantee that your mom wouldn’t want you to blame yourself either. Did you never talk to Gabriel about this?’

‘No. I didn’t want to hear him say it. I know he blames me too, just like everyone else. Michael won’t even talk to me now.’

‘He wouldn’t have said it ‘cause it’s not true,’ said Dean. ‘Look, I don’t know if you know this, but Michael’s kind of a douche. That’s what my dad says anyway. You shouldn’t listen to him, he shouldn’t be blaming little kids for that stuff.’

Cas’s eyes widened.

‘Cas, if this were any other kid, would you blame them? Say if something like that happened to Sam, would you say it was his fault?’

‘No, but - ‘

‘No buts, Cas… just think about it all right?’ Dean hesitated, then said. ‘I know you don’t want touching, but I really think you need a hug, so I’m just gonna put my arm around here…’ Dean pulled Cas close and was surprised when Cas relaxed into him. He had expected Cas to remain stiff, as he always did when he let Dean hug him.

‘I miss her so much, Dean,’ Cas said thickly, welling up.

‘Yeah I know, but I’m sure she’d be proud of you. She’s not the only one that’s kind and beautiful.’

Cas sniffed loudly. ‘Oh, Dean, you’re cold.’

‘Yeah. Can we go upstairs now?’

Cas nodded and slowly got to his feet. Dean walked him to the castle with his arm still around Cas’s shoulders until Cas shrugged him off at the Entrance Hall.

‘It’ll be quiet in our common room, everyone’s at the match,’ Dean said.

Cas nodded and went up the stairs with Dean. ‘Don’t you want to go and watch?’ Cas asked.

‘Nah, I only care about it when I can watch you play.’

Cas curled up against the arm of one of the sofas before the fire. Dean warmed himself up in front of it before sitting next to Cas. He conjured a mug and some steaming hot chocolate and passed it to Cas.

‘Sam’s favourite recipe,’ he said.

Cas took a small sip. ‘It’s nice. Thank you.’

Dean rubbed his hands together, still trying to warm up.

‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ Cas murmured, taking another sip. ‘It seems we have a lot in common.’

‘I’m sorry about yours too.’

‘You’re very brave. I’m not.’

‘That’s not true,’ said Dean. ‘I think you’re brave. You get scared a lot but you keep going. That’s like the definition of brave.’

Cas gave a weak smile, and Dean’s heart thrilled.

They knew the match was over when Gryffindors began to filter in and out of the common room. Cas got up and moved to the window, where he could watch the iron grey clouds outside.

Dean gave him his space and grinned at John and Sherlock when they came in.

‘Did we win?’ he asked.

John nodded and flopped down on the sofa.

‘Why do you not look happy about that?’

‘Harry, Fred and George got banned from playing,’ John said. ‘They jumped on Malfoy in front of Umbridge.’

‘Damn,’ Cas said softly, and they all turned to look at him. ‘I was hoping to get a real challenge against Harry.’

‘Ouch, Cas comin’ in hot,’ Dean laughed.

‘I’m not sure how much of a challenge Harry would have been anyway,’ said John. ‘You’re the best Chaser I’ve ever seen.’

‘You haven’t seen that many Chasers,’ Sherlock grumbled and Cas frowned at him.

‘That’s rude. What’s your problem?’ Dean asked.

‘He’s jealous,’ John smirked

Cas’s eyebrows rose.

‘I am not!’

‘Maybe Cas and I would make a better couple,’ John teased.

Cas wrinkled his nose and John laughed.

‘Wow, tell me how you really feel, Cas.’

‘I’m sorry, John, you’re just not really my type,’ Cas said with a slight, amused smile.

‘Oh really? What _is_ your type?’ said John.

Cas looked him up and down and said, ‘Taller.’

Dean and John burst out laughing, and John turned to Sherlock.

‘You see? I’m not his type, it would never work out.’

Sherlock rolled his eyes and folded his arms.

John tutted and reached out a hand. ‘You do know that I love you, right?’

‘Ooh, he used the ‘L’ word,’ Dean said in a stage whisper.

Sherlock turned pink and finally sat down next to John.

‘You’re in my head enough, you should bloody well know by now.’

Sherlock said nothing, but leaned over and started kissing John. Dean took it as his cue to move, and went to stand next to Cas at the window.

Cas was holding his necklace in his hand, but he seemed calmer than he had been before.

‘Are you feeling better?’ Dean said quietly.

Cas nodded.

‘Good to get it off your chest, huh?’

Cas smiled.

‘I gotta go get something to eat. You want anything?’

‘No thank you.’

‘Will you still be here when I get back?’

‘Yes. I like this window. It looks as though it may snow.’

‘All right, I’ll be back in a little while.’

  
  


Dean hurried down to the Great Hall and gathered up some food, quickly stuffing a sandwich in his mouth. None of the Gryffindor team were around, only Hermione looking stormy.

‘You coming up?’ Dean asked her, barely comprehensible through his mouth full of food.

‘I’m waiting for Harry,’ she said. ‘You heard what happened?’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Dean. ‘Worth it to give Malfoy a beat down if you ask me.’ He looked around and noticed a lot of Ravenclaws looking excited and triumphant. ‘What are they so happy about?’

Hermione shrugged. ‘Now that Gryffindor have lost their best players, there’s nothing stopping Cas from steamrollering the other teams and winning the cup.’

‘Very true,’ said Dean. ‘Oh well. When you see Harry, tell him I said good job.’ He sniggered at Hermione’s expression and went back upstairs.

He ended up doing some homework for a while, pulling out yet another novelty pair of glasses and working on an arduous History of Magic essay. Cas glanced over at him every so often, but he remained in his spot, watching as the snow began to drift down from the clouds outside.

Dean didn’t ask him for help, but it took him longer than he was expecting, and it was dark by the time he was finished.

The Gryffindor team had come and gone. Angelina went to bed early, and by the time Ron arrived back in the common room, he and Harry were the only ones left.

Dean put his essay away and John cleared his throat pointedly.

‘What?’

John nodded at the window and gestured at Cas.

‘ _What?’_

John slapped his palm to his forehead and pointed at Cas again.

Dean looked again at the window. ‘Oh!’ he said. It was snowing. His legs suddenly turned to jelly, and he felt as though he were walking in slow motion when he approached Cas. ‘Hey, take a walk with me?’

Cas blinked. ‘All right,’ he said, finally uncurling his legs and walking out of the portrait hole with Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to Liesje2004, OtakuElf, Sam_the_Skald, VegasGranny and hhhellcat for the comments! See you again soon :)


	19. Hagrid's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to Liesje2004, OtakuElf, VegasGranny, Sam_the_Skald and hhhellcat for the comments! See you again next time :)

Hagrid’s Tale

  
  


‘Where are we going, Dean?’ Cas asked, following Dean down the marble staircase.

‘Outside,’ said Dean. ‘I thought it might be nice to take a walk in the snow.’

Cas frowned. ‘We’re not supposed to be outside after dark.’

‘Really? I thought you were allowed.’

‘Well, I am, but only if I have to.’

‘You won’t get in trouble, don’t worry,’ Dean reassured. ‘It’s okay to do things you like, just for fun sometimes, you know?’

Cas nodded uncertainly, but kept following Dean. Once outside, though, his face relaxed and he breathed in the smell of the snow.

Dean stared at him for a moment, watching the flakes drift into his dark hair. He reluctantly kept walking, bringing Cas with him. They walked in silence for a while, leaving their footprints in the snow as they walked around the castle. The few flickering lights from the castle windows were enough to light their way.

Cas was the first to speak. ‘I’ve always loved the snow,’ he said, crouching down and running his hand through the fresh, sparkling powder, the Whomping Willow just visible in the distance, shivering in the cold.

‘Mhm,’ Dean said, heart in his throat.

‘Is something wrong?’ Cas asked, noticing his nerves.

‘No, no,’ Dean said hastily. ‘I just - I just - ‘

‘Dean, what is it?’ Cas asked in alarm.

Dean shook his head and took a deep breath, his heart hammering ever faster. ‘I wanted to ask you - um - well -’

‘Dean,’ Cas said, ‘it’s all right. Take your time.’

Dean bit his lip. Cas’s voice soothed him, and Cas’s amazingly blue eyes watched him expectantly. ‘Okay, okay…’ Dean looked down at his feet. ‘Cas, I really like you. God, I sound like such a dork, but I really want you to go out with me.’ Dean cleared his throat. ‘ _Tu veux être mon petit-copain?’_

Cas stared at him, stunned.

‘Was - was that okay? Did I say it wrong?’ Dean said anxiously. ‘That’s how Fleur told me to say it-’

‘No, that’s correct,’ Cas said, not taking his eyes off Dean.

Dean exhaled. ‘I just think you’re amazing, and really talented and smart. You have great hair, and I really like the way you fly, and I like your smile. Are you gonna let me keep talking or are you gonna say something?’ Dean said nervously.

‘You… want to be with _me?’_ Cas said slowly.

‘Well… yeah…’

‘Why?’

‘For all the reasons I just said?’

‘I don’t understand.’

Dean shuffled his feet in the cold. ‘Do you need to? Isn’t the question whether or not you want to be with me?’

Cas chewed a fingernail.

‘So - so do you?’ Dean prompted.

Cas looked away, then back again. ‘ _Oui_.’

Relief flooded through Dean. ‘You do? Really?’

Cas nodded.

Dean puffed out a breath, then grinned widely. ‘Wow, awesome.’ Dean took a step closer to Cas, but Cas stepped back again.

‘I’m -I’m not ready for - that - yet,’ he mumbled. He hesitated, then grabbed both Dean’s hands and squeezed them tightly. ‘Is this all right for now?’

‘Yeah,’ Dean breathed. ‘Yeah, of course it is. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.’ Dean gently lifted up one of Cas’s hands and kissed it lightly. ‘How’s that?’

Cas nodded, blushing.

‘Do you want to keep walking?’ Dean asked.

‘All right.’ Cas kept hold of one of Dean’s hands while they walked.

‘Are you okay?’ Dean asked at Cas’s continued silence.

Cas nodded. ‘I - I didn’t think you felt the same, that’s all.’

‘Really? I thought I was making it kind of obvious.’

‘My social skills aren’t very good,’ Cas admitted.

‘Well, we can work on that,’ Dean grinned.

They walked a lap of the lake, holding hands all the while. On the way back around, Dean noticed lights on in Hagrid’s cabin and grinned.

‘Look!’ he said, nudging Cas. ‘Hagrid’s back, do you want to go see him?’

Cas’s eyes lit up and he nodded enthusiastically. ‘Come.’

They hurried over, noticing three sets of footprints leading ahead of them. Once at the door, however, Cas let go of Dean’s hand and gave him a regretful look.

‘It’s okay,’ Dean whispered reassuringly, before knocking on the door. ‘Hagrid, it’s us, let us in,’ he called as loudly as he dared.

Fang barked behind the door and they heard shuffling and scraping from inside.

The door opened, briefly bathing them in candlelight before Hagrid’s huge form blocked the doorway.

‘Not you two an’ all,’ he said gruffly. ‘Come in, come in.’

They went in, Hagrid closing the doorway, and saw Harry, Ron and Hermione sitting at the table.

‘Hey, guys,’ said Dean. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Hagrid’s been trying to recruit the giants,’ Ron explained. ‘He’s been up in the Alps with Madame Maxime.’

‘Oh cool! How’d it go?’ Dean said, happily helping himself to a cup of tea, passing Cas one as he did so.

‘Not well,’ Hagrid said darkly, holding a large steak to his face.

‘What happened?’ Dean said in alarm.

‘I can heal that,’ said Castiel, pulling out his wand.

Hagrid waved him away. ‘Won’ work. Giant’s blood an’ all.’

Cas put down his wand, but rested it on the seat next to him rather than putting it away in his robes.

‘Anyway, where was I?’

‘The Death Eaters,’ said Harry.

‘Righ’, righ’.

‘Yeah, a couple of ‘em were visitin’ ev’ry day, bringin’ gifts ter the Gurg-’

‘That means chief,’ Dean whispered to Cas.

‘-an’ he weren’t dangling them upside down.’

‘How d’you know they were Death Eaters?’ Ron asked.

‘Because I recognised one of ‘em,’ Hagrid growled. ‘Macnair, remember him? Bloke they sent ter kill Buckbeak? Maniac, he is. Likes killin’ as much as Golgomath; no wonder they were gettin’ on so well.’

‘So Macnair’s persuaded the giants to join You-Know-Who?’ Hermione said desperately.

‘Hold yer Hippogriffs, I haven’ finished me story yet!’ said Hagrid indignantly. ‘Me an’ Olympe talked it over an’ we agreed that jus’ ‘cause the Gurg looked like favourin’ You-Know-Who didn’ mean all of ‘em would. We had ter try an’ persuade some o’ the others, the ones who hadn’ wanted Golgomath as Gurg.’

‘How could you tell which ones they were?’ asked Ron.

‘Well, they were the ones bein’ beaten to a pulp, weren’ they?’ Hagrid said patiently.

‘Of course,’ Dean said, nodding sagely.

‘The ones with any sense were keepin’ well outta Golgomath’s way, hidin’ out in caves roun’ the gully jus’ like we were. So we decided we’d go pokin’ around some o’ the caves by night an’ see if we couldn’ persuade a few o’ them.’

‘You went poking around in dark caves looking for giants?’ said Ron, with awed respect in his voice.

‘Well, it wasn’t giants who worried us most,’ said Hagrid. ‘We were more concerned abou’ the Death Eaters. Dumbledore had told us before we wen’ not ter tangle with ‘em if we could avoid it, an’ the trouble was they knew we was around - ‘spect Golgomath told ‘em abou’ us. At night, when the giants were sleepin’ an’ we wanted ter be creepin’ inter caves, Macnair and the other one were sneakin’ round the mountains lookin’ fer us. I was hard put to stop Olympe jumpin’ out at ‘em,’ said Hagrid, the corners of his mouth lifting his wild beard, ‘she was rarin’ ter attack ‘em… fiery, yeh know… ‘spect it’s the French in her…’

Dean nudged Cas gently, drawing a smile out of him.

‘So, what happened? Did you ever get near any of the other giants?’

‘What? Oh… oh, yeah, we did. Yeah, on the third night after the last Gurg was killed we crept outta the cave we’d bin hidin’ in an’ headed back down inter the gully, keepin’ our eyes peeled fer the Death Eaters. Got inside a few o’ the caves, no go - then, in about the sixth one, we found three giants hidin’.’

‘Cave must’ve been cramped,’ said Ron.

‘Wasn’ room ter swing a Kneazle,’ said Hagrid.

‘Didn’t they attack you when they saw you?’ Hermione asked.

‘Probably woulda done if they’d bin in any condition,’ said Hagrid, ‘but they was badly hurt, all three o’ them; Golgomath’s lot had beaten them unconscious; they’d woken up an’ crawled inter the nearest shelter they could find. Anyway, one o’ them had a bit of English, an’ he translated fer the others, an what we had ter say didn’ seem ter go down too badly. So we kep’ goin’ back, visitin’ the wounded… I reckon we had abou’ six or seven o’ them convinced at one poin’.’

‘Six or seven?’ Ron said eagerly. ‘Well that’s not too bad - are they going to come over here and start fighting You-Know-Who with us?’

But Castiel said, ‘What do you mean “at one point”, Hagrid?’

Hagrid looked at him sadly.

‘Golgomath’s lot raided the caves. The ones that survived didn’ wan’ nothin’ ter do with us after that.’

‘So… so there aren’t any giants coming?’ said Ron, looking disappointed.

‘Nope,’ said Hagrid, heaving a deep sigh, ‘but we did wha’ we meant ter do, we gave ‘em Dumbledore’s message an’ some o’ them heard it an’ I ‘spect some o’ them’ll remember it. Jus’ maybe, them that don’ want ter stay around Golgomath’ll move outta the mountains, an’ there’s a chance they’ll remember Dumbledore’s friendly to ‘em… could be they’ll come.’

Snow was filling up the windows now, and Cas stared out at it.

‘Hagrid?’ Hermione said quietly after a while.

‘Mmm?’

‘Did you… was there any sign of… did you hear anything about your… your...mother while you were up there?’

Hagrid’s unobscured eye rested on Hermione, who looked rather scared.

‘I’m sorry… I… forget it-’

‘Dead,’ Hagrid grunted. ‘Died years ago.They told me.’

‘Oh… I’m… I’m really sorry,’ Hermione said in a small voice.

‘No need,’ he said shortly. ‘Can’t remember her much. Wasn’ a great mother.’

They were silent again until Ron said, ‘But you still haven’t told us how you got in this state,’ gesturing at his bloodstained face.

‘Or why you’re back so late,’ Harry added. ‘Sirius told us Madame Maxime came back weeks ago-’

‘Who attacked you?’ said Ron.

‘I haven’ bin attacked!’ said Hagrid. ‘I-’

But the rest of his words were drowned in a sudden outbreak of rapping on the door. Hermione gasped; her mug slipped through her fingers and smashed on the floor; Fang yelped. They all stared at the window beside the door. The shadow of somebody small and squat rippled across the thin curtain.

‘ _It’s her!’_ Ron whispered.

‘Get under here!’ Harry said quickly, seizing the Invisibility Cloak.

‘We won’t all fit!’ said Hermione.

‘We’re allowed out at night!’ Dean hissed. ‘Go, hurry up!’

Ron tore around the table and dived under the Cloak with Harry and Hermione.

Hagrid looked thoroughly confused, Fang barked madly at the door, and Dean shoved the extra mugs under the cushion in Fang’s basket.

Dean turned to Cas. ‘Don’t panic,’ he whispered. ‘We’re allowed to be here. You’re not in trouble.’

Cas nodded, but fear was clear on his face.

Fang was now leaping at the door; Hagrid pushed him out of the way with his foot and pulled it open.

Umbridge was standing in the doorway wearing her green tweed cloak and matching hat with earflaps. Lips pursed, she leaned back to see Hagrid’s face; she barely reached his navel.

‘ _So,’_ she said slowly and loudly, as though speaking to somebody deaf. ‘You’re Hagrid, are you?’

Without waiting for an answer, she strolled into the room. ‘Get away,’ she snapped, waving her handbag at Fang, who had bounded up to her and was attempting to lick her face.

‘Er - I don’t mean to be rude, but who the ruddy hell are you?’

‘My name is Dolores Umbridge.’

Her eyes swept the cabin and landed on Cas and Dean. ‘What are you two doing out here?’ she asked incredulously.

‘We’re allowed,’ Dean said. ‘We have notes.’

‘Dolores Umbridge?’ said Hagrid. ‘I thought you were one o’ them Ministry - don’t you work for Fudge?’

‘I was Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, yes. I am now the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher-’

‘Tha’s brave of yeh,’ said Hagrid, ‘there’s not many’d take that job any more.’

‘- and Hogwarts High Inquisitor. Let me see these notes,’ she said to Cas and Dean.

Dean reached into his robes, as did Cas, and passed her their pieces of parchment. Dean noticed Cas put his hand back into his pocket, and could feel his discomfort.

Umbridge examined them both, looked up at them with a raised eyebrow, then tore their notes to shreds. ‘These are clearly fake,’ she said.

‘You can’t do that!’ Dean exclaimed. The only thing that kept him from leaping to his feet at that moment was Cas’s knee pressed against his.

‘I can and I have. I’m giving you both a week of detentions.’

Dean heard Cas gulp next to him. Cas hadn’t been in detention in years, and the very thought made him tremble.

‘What is that?’ Umbridge asked, pointing at the broken shards of china on the floor that had been Hermione’s mug.

‘Oh,’ said Hagrid, said Hagrid, with a most unhelpful glance towards the corner where Harry, Ron and Hermione stood hidden, ‘oh, tha’ was Fang. He broke a mug. So I had ter use this one instead.’

Hagrid pointed to the mug from which he was drinking, one hand still clamped over the steak pressed to his eye.

‘I heard several voices,’ Umbridge said quietly.

‘I’m really good at impressions,’ said Dean, narrowing his eyes.

‘There are five sets of footprints leading to your cabin.’

‘Well, I on’y just got back,’ said Hagrid, waving an enormous hand at his bag. ‘Maybe someone else came ter call earlier an’ I missed ‘em.’

‘There are no footsteps leading away from your cabin door.’

‘Well, I… I don’ know why that’d be…’ said Hagrid, tugging nervously on his beard and again glancing towards the corner where the others were hiding. ‘Erm…’

Umbridge wheeled around and strode the length of the cabin, looking around carefully. She bent and peered under the bed. She opened Hagrid’s cupboards and passed within inches of Harry, Ron and Hermione. After looking carefully inside the enormous cauldron Hagrid used for cooking, she wheeled around again and said, ‘What has happened to you? How did you sustain such injuries?’

Hagrid hastily removed the steak from his face, which was a mistake, because the black and purple bruising all around his eye was now clearly visible, not to mention the large amount of fresh and congealed blood on his face. ‘Oh, I… had a bit of an accident,’ he said lamely.

‘What sort of accident?’

‘I - I tripped.’

‘You tripped,’ she repeated coolly.

‘Yeah, tha’s right. Over… over a friend’s broomstick. I don’ fly meself. Well, look at the size o’ me, I don’ reckon there’s a broomstick that’d hold me. Friend o’ mine breeds Abraxan horses, I dunno if you’ve ever seen ‘em, big beasts, winged, yeh know, I’ve had a bit of a ride on one o’ them an’ it was-’

‘Where have you been?’ Umbride said, cutting through Hagrid’s babbling.

‘Where’ve I-?’

‘Been, yes. Term started two months ago. Another teacher has had to cover your classes. None of your colleagues have been able to give me information as to your whereabouts. You left no address. Where have you been?’

‘I- I’ve been away for me health,’ he said.

‘For your health,’ said Umbridge. Her eyes travelled over Hagrid’s discoloured and swollen face; blood dripping silently onto his waistcoat. ‘I see.’

‘Yeah,’ said Hagrid, ‘bit o’ - o’ fresh air, yeh know-’

‘Yes, as gamekeeper fresh air must be so difficult to come by,’ said Umbridge sweetly.

‘Well - change o’ scene, yeh know -’

‘Mountain scenery?’ said Umbridge swiftly.

‘Mountains?’ Hagrid repeated, clearly thinking fast. ‘Nope, South o’ France fer me. Bit o’ sun an’... an’ sea.’

‘Really?’ said Umbridge. ‘You don’t have much of a tan.’

‘Yeah… well… sensitive skin,’ said Hagrid, attempting a smile, though two of his front teeth were knocked out.

Umbridge looked at him coldly, then hoisted her handbag a little higher into the crook of her arm and said, ‘I shall, of course, be informing the Minister of your late return.’

‘Righ’,’ said Hagrid, nodding.

‘You ought to know, too, that as High Inquisitor it is my unfortunate but necessary duty to inspect my fellow teachers. So I daresay we shall meet again soon enough. You two, back up to the castle.’

Dean started at suddenly being addressed and got to his feet, Cas doing the same.

Umbridge turned sharply and marched back to the door.

‘You’re inspectin’ us?’ Hagrid echoed blankly, staring after her.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Umbridge, looking back at him with her hand on the door handle. ‘The Ministry is determined to weed out unsatisfactory teachers, Hagrid. Goodnight.’

Umbridge opened the door and made sure Dean and Cas were following her before closing the door again.

Dean and Cas trailed behind her, not daring to speak. Cas grabbed Dean’s hand, and Dean could feel him shivering.

‘It’s gonna be all right,’ Dean whispered. ‘Just hang in there, I’ve got you.’

Cas nodded stiffly.

Umbridge walked them all the way up to Ravenclaw Tower and waited a few minutes after Cas went inside before escorting Dean to Gryffindor Tower.

Dean gave the password to the Fat Lady, but on his way past, he whispered to her, ‘Knock when she’s gone, it’s an emergency.’

The portrait hole closed, but Dean waited behind it with bated breath. Finally, he heard a gentle knock from the Fat Lady, and he shot back out again. ‘Thanks,’ he called to the Fat Lady, and sprinted almost all the way back to the bronze door knocker concealing Ravenclaw Tower. He knocked on the door, and the knocker said, ‘The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?’

‘What?’ Dean said, breathless and clutching a stitch. ‘Whatever, Cas, are you in there? Open the door!’

The door cracked open and Cas stumbled out, clutching his jar. It was glowing bright white and shaking violently in Cas’s hand. Cas himself was barely holding it together, and Dean knew without Cas saying anything that he would never make it all the way down to the Whomping Willow.

‘Come on,’ Dean said. ‘The prefects’ bathroom is close by.’

Cas struggled to move, but he managed to get all the way to the door next to the statue of a wizard wearing his gloves on the wrong hand, and said, ‘ _Pine fresh’,_ to it.

Once inside, Dean helped Cas into the huge, sunken pool, and Cas finally let go of the jar.

Dean shielded his eyes, and heard things cracking and crumbling around them. When it was finally over, Dean opened his eyes to see that Cas had curled up in a ball.

Dean went around repairing the cracks in the walls of the pool, and in the taps, then knelt down beside Cas. 

‘Hey, are you awake?’ Dean murmured.

‘Yes,’ came Cas’s hoarse voice. He uncurled, then sat against the wall. His eyes and nose were red. 

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,’ Dean said, brushing Cas’s hair out of his face. 

‘It’s not your fault. We had notes, it should have been fine.’

The jar was still glowing faintly, but Cas picked it up and tucked it back into his pocket.

‘Don’t be scared, I’m gonna be right in those detentions with you. It doesn’t hurt that much.’

Cas nodded, lip wobbling. He reached inside his robes and pulled out his necklace, then closed his eyes. ‘It’s been a long day,’ he said. ‘I want to go to bed.’

‘Okay, let’s get you back upstairs.’

Cas said nothing more on the way, and sighed when they reached the eagle-shaped door knocker. 

‘The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?’ it repeated.

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly in no mood for riddles.

Dean thought for a moment. It was easier to think, now that he wasn’t desperate to get to Cas. ‘Footsteps,’ he said.

Cas stared at him as the door opened. 

‘What?’ said Dean. 

‘I don’t think you get enough credit for how smart you are.’

Dean felt his face warm.

Cas sighed again and wrapped his arm around Dean’s neck. 

It took a moment for Dean to react, surprised by Cas’s touch, but he hugged Cas back, feeling how skinny Cas was under his fingers. 

‘Goodnight, Dean,’ Cas whispered, before pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

‘Yeah… ‘night,’ Dean said faintly, as Cas closed the door, rubbing his cheek where Cas had kissed it. 

When he returned to the common room, he noticed John and Sherlock curled up asleep on the sofa together. When he walked in, John cracked open one eye and gave Dean a questioning look.

Dean gave John a discreet thumbs up and got a faint smile in return. 

It had indeed been a long day, but Dean fell asleep warm and happy.


End file.
